


She Who Turns Time

by coldwrapped



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 203,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwrapped/pseuds/coldwrapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman Minerva loves. A wish Hermione has to reunite them. A plan that seemed perfectly simple, but turned out to be more complicated than the brightest witch of her age could ever have imagined. Meddling with time can be quite hazardous. MM/HG romantic. Femmeslash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me. I am borrowing the idea for a controlled time-turner from Jackdawess. Thank you so much for the original idea. *bows*
> 
> I have no idea how long this will end up being. I have several chapters tentatively outlined, but there's a lot more to go after that, and I want to do justice to the plot and storyline to make it worth the time you all take to read it. It will be almost fully canon-compliant, up to the epilogue, but I'm ignoring that as far as Ron/Hermione goes. Almost meaning that I can't split up Gred and Forge, and most of the time I hate JKR for doing it. Instead, I've replaced his death with Percy's, who was there with Fred when it happened. Apologies to the Percy fans out there.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

_3 May 1998: The wee hours of the morning._

The battle was over. All the bodies had been collected and removed. The survivors had all gone home, exhausted beyond belief. Well, most of them had gone.

Hermione Granger wandered the empty grounds of the castle, having no home to which she could return. Molly had offered her space at The Burrow, but the family was in mourning over Percy, and she felt as though she would be intruding. Her parents' home had been sold when they left for Australia. She could probably have gone to Grimmauld Place, but Harry wouldn't be there, and if she was going to be alone, she certainly didn't want to do it there. Therefore, she was wandering the ruined grounds of Hogwarts, trying to find a clean and safe place to pitch her tent. She still had her little beaded bag and the tent Bill had loaned the Trio when they'd left Shell Cottage, and if she could just find the right spot, she'd set up camp for the night.

She was nearing Hagrid's hut, and saw a nearby plot of land that was mercifully clean, though its proximity to the Forbidden Forest put its safety a bit in question. _It's better than nothing_ , she thought, shrugging. She pulled the little bag from her pocket and reached in for the tent. Throwing it into the air, she cast the charms to bring it back to full size and to secure it to the ground. Stepping closer to the open flap, she contemplated casting the wards she was used to casting during the last year, then opted against them.

She ducked into the opening to the tent, closed things up behind her, and set about putting the room to rights. It was just the one spacious room, with a large fireplace along the left wall. There was a kitchen area along the back wall to the right side, and a small bathroom to the left. There was a stack of small cots on the right side of the room, and a few pieces of well-worn furniture spaced out in the middle. It was spartan in nature, but clean. It would do.

She pulled one of the cots out and placed it in front of the fireplace, which she then lit to dispel the chill remaining in the late-night air of early May. While the heat started to diffuse through the room, Hermione transfigured the small cot, piece by piece, into a larger and more comfortable bed. She set the thin mattress to one side and elongated and strengthened the metal frame. Once the frame was the proper size, she replaced the mattress, casting charms to thicken and widen the mattress so that it fit the new frame.

Reaching back into her beaded bag, she pulled a thin quilt out and cast similar charms on it, making it thicker and more plush, stretching the size to fit the larger mattress. She was too tired to worry about sheets, she decided, and spread the quilt over the bed.

Going back to the bathroom, she relieved her bladder and took a quick but warm shower, cleansing herself of the grime of battle. Using a combination of a thin towel and a couple mild drying charms, she dried herself and her hair, pulling the latter back into a thick plait. Stepping back into the main room, she was hit with a wave of exhaustion, all her efforts catching up to her. She climbed into the bed, snuggled into the thick, warm quilt, and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

=======================HG/MM=======================

She woke up slowly, feeling better rested than she'd felt in several months. She was sprawled across the bed on her stomach, her wand resting underneath her right hand; even in sleep, she wouldn't let it get out of her reach. She picked up the wand and turned over onto her back, snuggling deeper into the covers while keeping her arms free. She twirled the wand in her fingers, studying it. She hadn't had much chance to think about the fact that she was still using Bellatrix's wand. This little piece of wood and sinew had done so much damage in the hands of the Dark Witch, and it had continually fought her, up until the moment Molly had killed Bellatrix. Ever since that moment, it had warmed to Hermione, and she felt a real affinity with it now. She thought back on Ollivander's words when he'd identified the wand for them. _Walnut and dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarter inches, Unyielding._ It was much different from her first Vine wand, but she knew now that she could do great things with this wand. She could feel it.

Wondering what the implications were of her feeling an affinity with a wand that had been used for so much dark magic, she resolved to ask Ollivander whether or not it would be prudent to replace it with a new one when she saw him again.

Laying the wand beside her head, she tucked her arms underneath her head, crossing them to help support the weight of it since she'd forgotten to transfigure something into a decent pillow before passing out the night before. Her brain started slipping into another train of thought: Ron.

She had finally worked up the courage to kiss him last night, and it turned out much the way she'd suspected it would. It was a very nice kiss, but not necessarily the only kind of kiss she ever wanted to experience in her life. For one, there was this lingering notion of how it would be to kiss another girl; to see if girls' lips really were softer than boys'. Ever since her time at Shell Cottage, Hermione had been dying to know what it would be like to kiss Fleur. She'd felt several attractions to different people over the years, both male and female, but only had experience with Viktor and now with Ron. Ron's kiss was ever so much nicer than Viktor's, but Hermione still felt like something was missing in it, and she wondered if it was something to do with the gender of her kissing partner.

A gentle tap at the entrance to the tent disturbed her reverie. “Hello?” A woman's voice called out, the flap parting. “Is anyone in here?” Minerva McGonagall walked through the doorway. “Oh, Miss Granger, it's you. What are you doing in a tent by Hagrid's....” her voice trailed off, stammering over her words as she quickly turned around, realizing that Hermione wore nothing under the quilt.

Hermione flushed red and burrowed deeper under the quilt. “I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't have anywhere else to go last night, and by the time I found a safe place to pitch the tent and then got it ready, I didn't even think about digging sleep clothes out of my bag.” She reached one hand out for the beaded bag and snatched it under the cover with her, sitting up and making sure the quilt came down over all sides of her body. “If you don't mind waiting just one minute, I'll be dressed.” She started digging furiously through the bag for clothes.

“Ah, take your time. I'm the one who barged into your tent unannounced.” Minerva stayed facing the door, not daring to look back, her face flushed as red as Hermione's had been.

There was an uneasy silence as Hermione found and donned a tee-shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts. She lowered the quilt, having made herself decent. “You can turn around now, Professor. I'm, ah, dressed.” Hermione got out of the bed and stood to welcome her Professor.

Minerva turned around and noticed that Hermione was still blushing from head to toe, and could feel that she was blushing nearly as much. Brushing off the embarrassment of finding her student in such a state, she focused in on what Hermione had said. “You said you didn't have anywhere else to go last night? I find it hard to believe that nobody had a place for you, of all people.”

Hermione was busy undoing the changes she'd made to the cot, her wand moving in brief, concise shapes, the spell-words being muttered under her breath. “Well, yes of course. Molly offered me a place at The Burrow, but I'm not family and didn't want to intrude on their grief. Harry _did_ go with them, and I didn't want to sleep at Grimmauld place alone. I had this tent and have been used to camping for the last year, so I just stayed here.” She shrugged. “I didn't think I would be in the way here, and it felt … safe to be at Hogwarts, even in the aftermath of the battle.” She paused for a moment, digging her fingers into the softness of the still-transfigured quilt. “I suppose it was very foolish of me, but I...” her fingers clenched harder at the quilt, and she was shaking with the effort to not cry, “after being gone for so long, it felt so good to be back here. Hogwarts has always felt more like home than anywhere else I've been. Even now, with the destruction and the stench of death all around, it's still a haven. I, I just couldn't imagine going anywhere else.”

Minerva could see that Hermione was about to completely break down, and hurried to the younger witch, wrapping her arms around her, pressing Hermione's head against her shoulder. Hermione let go of the quilt and embraced Minerva with a fierce strength, grasping at the familiar green and black robes, and finally losing control of the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Long minutes passed, Minerva stroking Hermione's head while softly whispering words meant to comfort. There were lots of gentle shushes, mentions of getting it all out, some empty platitudes about how it would all be alright, and reminders to go ahead and cry. Finally, Hermione's tears began to slow, and she came back to herself. Her head was buried in Minerva's chest, tucked under the older witch's chin, the stream of comforting words still going as Minerva stroked her hair with one hand, the other holding tightly to Hermione's back around her shoulders. Her own arms were still clutching at the back of Minerva's robes, and she started to realize the position they were in. “Shh, let it all out, child, shhh.” Minerva whispered, her hand making another pass over Hermione's head. Hermione could feel the warm breath on the top of her head, and her train of thought from earlier was put back on its rails.

Hermione had been dying to know how it would feel to kiss Fleur, to kiss any girl, and here she was wrapped in the arms of the witch for whom she had the most respect in the world. It was only natural to wonder what it would feel like to kiss Minerva. As quickly as the thought appeared in her mind, however, she shoved it aside, feeling her earlier flushing at being caught naked return with a vengeance.

She pulled her head back and released her grip on Minerva's robes, taking a step backward. “I'm sorry, Prof....”

“No apologies are necessary, Miss Granger.” Minerva took her own step back, straightening her robes. “I suspect the aftermath of the war will cause many tears yet, and some of them likely from my own eyes. I'm only happy I could be here for you.” A wistful look crossed Minerva's face as she whispered. “Nobody should ever have to cry alone.” She lightly shook her head, and the stoic persona of Professor McGonagall reappeared.

Taking the initiative, Minerva banished the cot back with the others, and magically folded the quilt, sending it to lay on top of the stack of cots. She briefly inspected the chairs and found that none of them would be acceptable. Conjuring a plush, but straight-backed chair for herself, she placed it in front of the still nicely-burning fire and settled into it.

Hermione was still standing there, looking dumb-founded, but upon seeing Minerva settle into her chair, she pulled one of the existing chairs in front of the fire, facing Minerva, and settled herself into it.

“Now, I believe we were discussing your reasons for camping on Hogwarts grounds. I can understand wanting to give the Weasley family space, but I also know Molly well enough to know that if she extended the invitation, then she considers you family and is probably feeling guilty that you weren't there for breakfast this morning.” Her lips twitched in humor. “You know it's her greatest goal in life to feed the masses whenever she can, and not even her own grief will be able to keep her from the kitchen.”

Hermione was surprised at the mild joke, but smiled broadly at the accurate representation of her friends' mother. “She does like to cook, doesn't she?”

“Aye. However, since it is now currently past ten and you are not there, are you hungry?” Hermione nodded, her stomach making a loud grumble at the mention of food, causing her blush again. Minerva's lips twitched again, trying not to laugh at Hermione's predicament. “Well, we can't have that. Sunny!”

An old, pale House-Elf appeared, dressed in a standard tea-towel, but one which was clean and in good condition. “How can Sunny help you, Professor?”

“Good morning, Sunny. If it's not too much trouble, could we get a spot of breakfast for Miss Granger here? And tea for two, please.”

“Of course, Professor. What would Missy Granger like for her breakfast? We still has lots of supplies, and the kitchens wasn't damaged too much.” The elderly Elf was eying Hermione suspiciously, remembering her S.P.E.W. efforts. “Only...” she swallowed hard “...we doesn't want to receive clothes for helping the Missy. We likes to cook and clean, and we is happy to serve at Hogwarts. We is very proud to be Hogwarts Elves.”

Hermione sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle for House-Elf rights. They just didn't want them. “Thank you, Sunny. I can respect that, and I promise no clothes.” The Elf beamed at her. “Could I just get some scrambled eggs and bacon? And maybe some toast and jam?”

“Yes, Missy! What kind of jam does you want?” Sunny was excited to have someone to serve with the castle being empty, and it was showing.

“Strawberry will be perfect, thanks.” Hermione still felt guilty for using House-Elves to do what she could do for herself, but the fact was that she had no food supplies in the tent, and they always did such a lovely job.

“Sunny will be right back, Professor, Missy Granger.” She disappeared with a quiet pop.

Minerva glanced around the room and saw a small table set close to the kitchen area. A snap of the wand and a couple muttered words later saw it sat between the two chairs in front of the fire, cleaned, and set to an appropriate height for the tea and breakfast that was coming. A moment later, Sunny reappeared with the tea and breakfast, deposited it on the newly-placed table, and popped back out.

There was a pleasant silence between them as all this was going on, neither woman feeling the need to talk just for the sake of talking, and both knowing the conversation to come could wait until breakfast was completed.

Hermione picked up her plate, along with a clean napkin and fork, and settled back into her chair, resting the plate on the arm of the chair, and tucking in. Minerva poured tea into both cups and fixed her own, adding milk but no sugar, and without thinking, fixed Hermione's as well. She picked up the cup to hand it over and realized what she'd done.

“Oh dear. I seem to have fixed your tea the way my friend used to take hers. One sugar, no milk. How very strange.” _How perplexing_ , she thought. _I haven't fixed tea for Morgan in years._ She felt a twinge in her heart.

“Oh, that's fine. That's how I take my tea. What a happy coincidence!” Hermione reached out and took the cup from Minerva's hand, sinking back into her chair and watching as Minerva did the same. She took a sip, and the tea was absolutely perfect; just the way she liked it.

A few moments later, Hermione was putting her empty plate back on the tray and fixing her second cup of tea. Minerva had finished her cup and replaced it on the tray.

“Well, now that's sorted, let's get down to business. As I said, I understand not wanting to intrude on the Weasleys right now, but have you truly nowhere else to go? It just seems a bit odd to me. I would have thought you had many places to spend a night after what happened here.” Minerva was worried about the young woman.

Hermione fidgeted with a loose string on her shorts, keeping her eyes down and purposefully evading Minerva's gaze. “I know Harry would have let me stay at Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher's actually quite nice now, but I didn't want to be alone there. And my parents' house,” she paused to swallow past the lump in her throat, “was sold when they moved out of the country last year. And while I don't doubt that any of my friends would have given me a bed last night, I would have felt just as intrusive anywhere else as I would have with the Weasleys. I don't know... I found myself just wandering around after everyone left, and this seemed as good a place to stay as anywhere. Like I said earlier, Hogwarts is my home, or it has been. I felt safe here, and I haven't felt truly safe in a long time.” Her hands rose and rubbed her face, willing the tears to stay where they belonged. She didn't want to cry on Minerva again; she'd had enough of crying.

“I hadn't realized your parents left the country, my dear. And the rest, about safety and not belonging... I understand all too well.” A grim look settled on Minerva's face. “This is the third war I've survived. It's never quite as happy and easy as you'd think. Yes, Voldemort's dead, but it is by no means over. There are still Death Eaters out there, both those marked and those who weren't given that honor. Don't think that any one of them wouldn't like to get their hands on a Muggle-born or a Blood Traitor, especially one as well-known as you, Miss Granger. I know Hogwarts feels like home and safety, but until the repairs are complete and the wards reinstated, it's simply not a safe place to be, especially alone at night. For that reason, I apologize, but I must insist that you find somewhere else to stay. The Burrow would be the safest choice, but if you truly feel that uncomfortable there right now, then we will figure something else out for you.”

Hermione looked crestfallen at the news that she would have to leave the castle, but she soon schooled her features to the look of determination that Minerva was used to seeing. “I'll talk to Harry, then. I'll stay with him long enough to find a place of my own. I don't want to intrude on anyone in this time, especially if my presence would bring them further danger from lingering Death Eaters. If we work together, we can repair all the wards at Grimmauld Place and possibly turn it into a livable house again.” It was a good plan, she thought, and it would work. There was a bit of fire back in her eyes as she started mentally making plans to finally truly improve the old house.

“Excellent news. I know Mr. Potter will appreciate your help in setting the place to rights.” Minerva was happy to see Hermione mentally making plans. It was heartening to see a bit of the old Miss Granger.

The two women sat and passed pleasurable conversation for a couple more hours, before Minerva stood and made her excuses. There was much work to do, organizing the repairs on Hogwarts and the clean-up of the grounds. There was the big question of how long it would take and whether or not the school would be reopened as scheduled in September.

As Minerva was about to leave through the tent flap, Hermione made a split-second decision and ran across the room and enfolded her Professor into a tight, unexpected hug from one side. It threw Minerva's balance off, and was the hug not quite as tight as it was, she might have fallen. As it was, Hermione's grip was enough to keep her on her feet, and after a few seconds, she reached up to gently pat Hermione's linked hands where they rested on her right shoulder.

“Thank you, Professor. For the food and the conversation and the advice, and for always being there. Thank you.” Hermione pulled back from the hug and wiped the single tear that had fallen from her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Minerva's heart was filled with emotion at this outburst. “Any time, Miss Granger. And thank _you_ , just for being you. Good-bye, and good luck. I know you'll accomplish everything in this world you want.” She turned and left the tent, feeling her solitude sharply and wishing for someone she hadn't seen in nearly ten years. _Oh, Morgan. Where are you?_

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione quickly gathered up her things and set out for The Burrow. She needed to talk to Harry, and she knew that's where he'd be. It was awkward. Everyone was there, and the loss of Percy was keenly felt by all. She got Harry outside alone, and explained what she needed. He readily agreed to her plans, feeling as she did that he was intruding on the Weasleys' time of mourning.

Over the next two months, the two of them and Ginny worked together with Kreacher and completely changed the home that formerly housed the Ancient and Noble House of Black. First off, they repaired and replaced the wards protecting the house. The rest of the rogue Death Eaters were being brought in, but with it being Harry's home, and since he was currently housing Hermione as well, the security was warranted.

In a brilliant move, Hermione magically built a standalone section of plain wall and used a Switching Spell to replace the section of wall where Walburga's portrait was hung. The new wall was put in place of the old section, and the old wall, including the portrait, was made free-standing and able to be destroyed. Working with Kreacher, she used a similar charm to finally remove the Elf-heads, and gave them an honorable burial. They spent the rest of the summer cleaning and replacing everything they could, and by the time they finished, nobody would have ever suspected that the newly christened “Corrigeons Manoir” was ever the house used by the Order during the war.

Hermione would smirk when people asked about the name. “Corrigeons Manoir” simply meant “we put this house right” or “we corrected this house”; “we fixed it”. In deference to the house's historical significance, they went with the word for manor or hall rather than the generic “maison” for house. Of course, it was all still quite a mouthful, and it soon became normal to hear people referring to it as “the CM.”

One day in early August, Hermione was taking a break out back, enjoying a bit of sun while she read up on Magical careers, beginning to explore her options now that the house was finished. An owl dropped a letter on her lap and flew away before she could offer it a drink of water or an owl-treat.

Picking it up, she saw her own name in Emerald Green ink, and on the opposite side, the thick wax seal held the imprint of the Hogwarts coat of arms. _Curious_ , she thought, and broke the seal. Inside the envelope was a letter offering her a place as a student for a remedial year to take the place of the horrible one endured under the leadership of Snape and the Carrows. Enclosed was a list of standard seventh-year supplies, and there was a short note added behind the supply list.

_Miss Granger,_

_I wanted to personally extend my invitation for you to return, especially following the conversation we had pertaining to your living situation. I don't expect that everyone will return to school for this chance at properly completing their education, but I believe that if anyone does return, it will be you._

_Unfortunately, as you skipped your official seventh year, and this is a special opportunity, I cannot offer you the position of Head Girl, but if you wish to return, I can offer to keep you on as a Prefect. We may be able to offer you the rooms set aside for the Gryffindor Head Girl, as the Head Girl for this year is not in our house. It would afford you a certain additional measure of privacy to which you may have become accustomed since your last stay as a student here at the Castle._

_Please let me know within two weeks if you will be accepting this offer or not, so we can make our plans accordingly._

_I wish you all the best either way._

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress,_  
 _Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Of course she would go back! It was the perfect solution to her problems. She could complete her education, gain her NEWTs, and use the next year to fully explore her future career options, all without having to further impose on Harry's hospitality.

She went up to her room and sat down to pen a short reply.

_Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I would like to begin by congratulating you on the appointment as Headmistress. I'm sure it's what Professor Dumbledore would have wanted, and you deserve it._

_I would also like to accept your offer to come back and complete my education, and to live in the Head Girl's rooms. Thank you for your generosity in offering them._

_I understand why you can't offer me the Head Girl position. In taking it, I would have been depriving another year's students of their opportunity to earn it, and I wouldn't have been able to do that._

_If necessary, I will take the Prefect position, but unless you truly need me in the position to help train the younger Prefects, I would respectfully decline the responsibility. With Voldemort gone, I would like the opportunity to fully concentrate on my education this year, and I feel that the Prefect duties could interfere with that goal._

_Thank you so much, and I will see you on 1 st September._

_Hermione Granger_

She folded and sealed the letter, sticking it down into the pocket on her robes. She needed to pick up a few things in Diagon Alley, and would need some of the items from the supplies list as well, so she might as well use the Owl service there to deliver her letter to McGonagall.

She grabbed her beaded purse, which already contained most of her money, and would nicely hold all the supplies she picked up while she was out.

Heading back out to the back garden, she disapparated with a crack.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Diagon Alley was crowded, but it wasn't as bad as she anticipated it would be in a couple of weeks when all the students and parents started popping in for their own school supplies. She popped into Flourish and Blotts first, picking up the textbooks she didn't already own, and selecting a few extra books as well for personal reading. Then over into Slug and Jiggers for the potions ingredients listed. Scribbulus had her quill and ink order ready, and she added a large order of parchment that she hadn't known she would need before getting McGonagall's letter. She went ahead into the Owl Post shop and mailed her letter off to Hogwarts.

She debated for a moment whether or not she would need new robes, and decided that a new set wouldn't hurt, so on to Madam Malkin's she went. An hour later, she'd been fitted for two new sets of student robes, and had picked up a set of dress robes in a shade of palest pink with accents in charcoal grey. They looked very grown-up, but still youthful enough that at nearly nineteen, they would make her look her age; she wanted to be taken seriously, neither treated like a twelve-year-old first-year, nor like someone in their thirties or forties.

Remembering that she'd wanted to talk to Ollivander about her wand ever since the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts, she made her way back up to his shop and entered the cool dark room.

“Mr. Ollivander?” she questioned into the darkness. Only a moment passed before he popped his head around the corner of a shelf.

“Yes?” He saw who was standing in his shop, and smiled brightly at her. “Oh, Miss Granger. I thought I might be hearing from you before long. Wanting a new wand, are we?” He stepped up to the counter, still smiling.

“I'm not sure, sir. I know where this wand came from, and I know what it's done in the past, but ever since Bellatrix died, it's been easier and easier to use, and now it almost feels better than the wand you originally sold me. Is that odd? Is it a bad thing? To be able to use such a Dark wand so easily?” She set the wand down on the counter between them, her worries written all over her face.

“No, Miss Granger, of course not. I always say the wand chooses the witch or wizard. Walnut is a notoriously useful wand wood, and it is drawn to those who are highly intelligent. It is very versatile and adaptable, and will do you quite well once you've mastered it, which from what you said, you have done. If the wand is truly yours now, it will do any spell you ask it to, with no questions. It strives to learn, and loves to help in the creation of new magical items and spells. Your first wand had a very different wood, but the core is the same. Dragon heartstring yields the most power of the three cores I use, and they learn very quickly. Something I think it shares with you, which is why both of your wands have had this core material.

“The nature of the wand, Unyielding, can be associated with an inability to change at all, but in terms of matching the wand with yourself, I would say it has more to do with the fact that you have very strong principles and are unwilling to change your stance on these principles, no matter who or what might attack you for it. This has both negative and positive connotations, but I do feel that this wand is uniquely suited to you, and if you are finding it easier to use, then you have truly won its loyalty. The wand was never Dark; it only did Dark things because its previous owner wished them. I will sell you another wand, certainly, if that's what you wish, but it's not necessary.”

Hermione stood there, soaking in the information as Ollivander presented it, seeing how it all applied to her and to the wand, and could see all that she could potentially do with this wand if she'd won its loyalty.

“I do wish to purchase another wand, sir, but only as a backup in case anything were ever to happen to this one. Having already lost one in the war, I don't care to take a chance on being wandless again, or on being left with a captured wand that didn't want me to use it.”

Ollivander's eyes brightened up. She had answered just as he'd hoped she would. “A wise decision. The Ministry says that I am not, however, allowed to sell you a second wand. I think that if I were to give it to you, rather than selling it to you, then we shall get around that rule quite nicely.” There was a twinkle in his eye that was reminiscent of Dumbledore, and it unbalanced Hermione for a moment.

“Sir, I can't take a wand and not pay for it. That's,” she was interrupted.

“Quite alright. If you hadn't shown up at Malfoy Manor with Misters Potter and Weasley when you did, I wouldn't be here. You took the brunt of the damage from that visit, and it would greatly honor me if you would allow me to gift you with a spare wand. Please, Miss Granger.” The twinkle had disappeared from his eye and was replaced with a sad mistiness.

“I... thank you, Mr. Ollivander. It's a wonderful gift and I am very grateful.”

He nodded curtly and disappeared behind a shelf to grab a few boxes. When he came back around the corner, the mist was gone from his eyes, and his face reflected the same odd curiosity it always had. “Now, Miss Granger, if you'll put this wand away, I have a few choices that I think might suit you.”

She put the Walnut wand into its loops inside the beaded bag, held close to the top where she could easily access it, then looked at the boxes Ollivander had placed on the counter. “First up, Black Walnut with Unicorn Hair, twelve inches, reasonably supple.” She reached for the wand, but before she could even touch it, there was an air of _wrong_ between the wand and her hand. “Ah, I don't think that one will do, sir.” He replaced the lid on its box and set it to one side. “That's a strong reaction if you felt it before you even touched it. No matter, there are more to try out. Next is Hawthorn with Phoenix Feather, eleven inches, rigid.” She picked up the wand and gave it a swish, causing red sparks to fly from its tip. She set it back in its box. “Yes, that's another no. Let's try this one. Larch with Dragon Heartstring, nine inches, supple.” When her fingers touched the Larch wand, she felt a flood of warmth, but when she swished it around, the warmth retracted to an icy cold, turning the tips of her fingers blue. She dropped it back into its box and muttered a mild heating charm to bring her fingers back to normal temperature. “Again, I think that's a no.”

“It was strange, sir, it was very warm at first and I thought this might be the one, but then it was just like plunging my hand into solid ice.” She shook her hand for a moment, making sure it was warm.

“Curious. Very curious.” He looked at the other boxes he had brought out, and immediately dismissed them all. He ducked underneath the counter and dug around for a moment before bringing up a single box. It was covered in dust, which he blew into the air, making Hermione cough. “Let's try this one. It's one of the last made by my father, but I just have a feeling about it. Apple with Dragon Heartstring, ten inches, slightly yielding.”

There was a feeling of anticipation on the air, and as she reached for the Apple wand, a blue spark connected the wand and her hand. As she grabbed it, there was a crack and the smell of ozone surrounded them. A rush of warmth flooded her entire body, and then it settled to her normal temperature. She gave it a gentle swish, whispering _Wingardium Leviosa_ at a potted plant in the corner, and flicked as the pot gently rose into the air and hovered until she allowed it to slowly lower back to the floor.

“I believe we have found it, Miss Granger. My father used to speak of who would end up getting this wand, and although it didn't make sense at the time, he did say it would never be bought. Congratulations, Miss Granger. You have your new wand.”

Hermione was staring at the wand. It was nearly three inches shorter than Bellatrix's Walnut wand, but it had a wonderful feel to it, as though she truly were destined to own it. She could almost hear it whispering to her mind, and it was saying _“mine.”_

“I... thank you, sir. It is an exceedingly generous gift, especially given that your father made it.” She gulped in a breath of air. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Granger. Absolutely nothing. Only, be sure to use the Walnut one when in public. We can't have the Ministry thinking I've sold you a second wand, can we?” The twinkle was back in his eye.

“No. No, of course not, sir.” She opened the little bag and swapped the wands out, leaving the Apple in the loops and putting the Walnut wand back into her hand.

“My father left a message for whoever ended up with that wand. He said to be careful, and to never mismanage your time. Don't ask me what it means, because I don't know. I only know he wanted the message passed on, and I've finally been able to do that.”

Hermione didn't understand the message or why it was attached to this wand, but filed it away in the back of her mind for later analysis.

“Thank you again, sir, for all your help. I should be getting home now. Take care of yourself.” She smiled at him and turned toward the door.

“You take care of _your_ self, Miss Granger. Good day.”

Before she could turn back around to smile at him, he was gone. _What a strange and curious man,_ she thought, leaving the store. She stood outside the store for a few moments, putting her brain back in order before turning to disapparate home with a quiet crack.

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the beginning of this. Reviews are always welcome, and yes, there is more Minerva coming. This will be a bit of a slow burn, and probably not much smutty content, although I'll concede a scene or two are in the plans. I don't write it well, but there are a couple plot points that will work better in that context.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Please remember that this is in no way a Ron/Hermione story. It is eventual Hermione/Minerva, but she needs some time to get there. I did mention slow burn, yes? There will be mentions of other ships, even for Hermione. She's young and needs to explore her options, which are many.
> 
> I know I'm concentrating a lot on Hermione right now, but that's all in the build-up. There will be sections of the story from Minerva's point of view as well, but for now, it's mostly with Hermione.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next two weeks were a rush for Hermione, and her mind was permeated with one recurring thought, “Hogwarts!”

Harry had decided not to return. When asked why, he replied quietly and thoughtfully that for an accident, he'd been famous his entire school career. Now that he was not only the Boy Who Lived, but also the Boy Who Came Back and Conquered, he felt like everyone would be paying too much attention to him; expecting too much from him. He'd already been offered a position in the Auror's office, and his training began midway through September. At least in the DMLE, he was only as good as his performance. Kingsley and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wouldn't give him any special treatment for being famous.

Ginny was going for her actual seventh year, and was excited at the prospect of finally being in classes with Hermione. The two girls had gotten much closer over the summer while fixing up the CM, and Ginny was only sad that they wouldn't be sharing a dormitory. She was a little jealous of Hermione getting the Head Girl's rooms, but had wrangled an agreement out of Hermione that if she ever needed a break from the Common Room, she could come study there instead.

Ron, of course, had no plans to go back. He had never been a great student, and was debating between a reserve position with the Cannons, which he thought would be wicked fun, and a position in Auror training with Harry. He was definitely leaning towards Quidditch, but had a few more weeks before he absolutely had to make up his mind.

He spent a lot of his free time thinking about Hermione. Ever since their kiss in the midst of battle, he'd wanted more. It's as though some monster had awakened inside his heart and he was so certain that they were deeply in love. They had shared a few more kisses, and had a couple mild snogging sessions, but he always felt like Hermione wasn't as invested in their time spent together as he was. He knew she was busy, first with the renovations, and now with her plans to go back to school, but he was finding fewer and fewer opportunities to show her the depth of his love for her. He wanted more than she was giving, and thought it was more than a little unfair how her attentions were always being diverted away from him.

Hermione was picking up on his frustrations. The kisses _were_ nice, but she found that more and more, his kisses weren't living up to her expectations of what a kiss could, and possibly should be. She was haunted by the recurring desire to see what it was like to kiss a woman, and it was sending her into a terrible state.

Finally, the night before she was to leave for Hogwarts, she pulled him aside for a private conversation. She outlined that while she was away at school, they should consider themselves free agents, so that if anything came up, neither would have to feel as though they were cheating if they chose to pursue it. “I love you, Ron, I do, but between my education and your job training, this will be nine months apart, and who knows what can happen in nine months? It's not that I anticipate finding someone else, especially while sequestered away at Hogwarts, but I'd like to know that if something did happen, we would be free to do as we want.”

“But 'Mione, I don't want to be with anyone else. I want you.” His throat felt like it was closing up, and he swallowed past the lump. “If it's what you really want, then be free with my blessing, but I will never love someone else the way that I love you. I'll be here waiting when you finish school, and then we can begin our life together.” He didn't want to say it, but knew that if he didn't, he'd lose her for good.

“Thank you, Ron, for being an adult about this. We can still write to each other, and I'm sure I'll see you on breaks. I just feel like this is the best thing for now.” She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and stood up. “I have to get some sleep now. Early start for the train in the morning.” She trailed the back of her index finger softly across his cheek, seeing the pain he was in over their words. “Good night.”

She headed upstairs, aware that he was softly sobbing, but knowing that it was necessary. A few hot tears streamed down her own face as she walked. She entered the room she had appropriated, not wanting to share with Ginny when there were plenty to go around. She pulled the clothes from her body and stepped into the shower, her tears mingling with the hot water until only the cleansing spray was left. She was cried out, but still felt a need for something she didn't understand. Turning off the taps, she reached for a thick towel and began to dry off. Her nerve endings felt raw and exposed, and as the soft towel brushed over her skin, she was on fire. Her body dry, she reached for her wand and cast a mild drying charm on her hair. It didn't get her hair totally dry, but left it only barely damp so she could easily tie it back in a thick plait, which would make it more manageable the next morning.

Back in her bedroom, she donned an old, grey tee-shirt that was very soft, and a pair of short sleeping shorts in the same color, and slipped between her cool sheets. She was still feeling as though she were burning inside her skin, and the sheets felt glorious. She tried to go to sleep, but every brush of her pajamas or the sheets against her skin stoked the fire higher, making her crave … she didn't know what, but gods she wanted it.

And so when Ron stepped into the room and whispered her name, she moaned “yes.” He quickly divested himself of his clothes and climbed into the bed with her, his face still wet with his tears, but needing to feel this connection with her. Gentle touches fanned the flamed higher, and she whispered _Divesto_ , sending her soft shirt and shorts to the floor in a bundle. Another murmured word protected her from accidental pregnancy – it didn't pay to be careless in this area with a Weasley. A quick, sharp pain made her hiss quietly, but the pain was soon replaced by more of the delicious heat that had been enveloping her all night, and the friction made her moan, low and slow. The two of them moved together, and she soon cried out, and he grunted with his own completion a moment later.

Withdrawing, he settled into the bed, pulling her back against his chest, spooning them together and drawing the covers over them. Exhausted, she cast a quick cleaning spell on both of them and the sheets before succumbing to a deep, restful sleep in his arms.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next morning, she was up and gone before he woke. She knew he would be upset about it when he did wake up, but their actions changed nothing about how she felt and what she wanted. It had been nice; more than nice, it had been really good, but she wanted more. She still had these attractions to both men and women, and she wanted to explore that before she settled down with one person for the rest of her life. She was only eighteen, for Merlin's sake, and had plenty of time to get to that.

As the Hogwarts Express chugged north, she was settled into a compartment by herself. She was slouched into the rear-facing window seat, watching as the scenery whizzed by. She was quietly thinking, but enjoying the trip she thought she would never get to make again. She found herself wondering how many from her class would be coming back. Many of them had attended the previous year and had been able to sit for their NEWTs at the Ministry while Hogwarts was being repaired. She suspected she was the only female Gryffindor returning since they had offered her the Head Girl's quarters.

The compartment door opened and Neville ducked through, closing it behind him. “Neville!” she exclaimed, jumping up to give him a hug, “I didn't know you were coming back!”

He eagerly returned the hug and placed a little peck on her cheek, “Of course. Couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?” They broke apart and sat down in the window seats, facing each other. “Besides,” he dropped his head sheepishly and blushed, “in order to be a teacher you have to satisfactorily finish your own education.” His head rose back up, and a serious look crossed his face as he looked out the window. “I know I was there last year, but it wasn't really the best year's education. I wanted a chance to do it properly.” There was a darkness in his eyes at the memory of last year, and for a moment, he wasn't strictly there on the train.

“I didn't know you wanted to be a teacher, Neville, that's amazing.” She spoke quietly, but the plain joy in her voice brought him back from his dark moment. He shook it off and smiled at her.

“Yeah, it won't be easy, and I still have to face the Mastery process after Hogwarts, and a few years teaching underneath Professor Sprout after all that, but it's what I want, and I'm willing to work for it. If there's anything I've learned being friends with you and Harry, it's that anything's possible if you're willing to do the work. I mean, you guys went out and tracked down all the Horcruxes and destroyed them. I can't begin to imagine what all you had to do to accomplish that, but Gryffindor's biggest swot even skipped out on a year's education to get it done. If that's not a testimony to the benefits of hard work, I don't know what is.”

“We didn't destroy them all, Neville. You took care of Nagini.” She leaned forward and placed her right hand over his left where it rested on his knee. “Never forget that. I,” she paused for a moment before continuing, “I think your parents would be exceedingly proud of you.” Her eyes threatened to spill the tears building up in them, and she could see that Neville was in much the same shape.

“Yeah. Gran said the same thing.” There was an awkward silence between them for a moment, as they both fought their tears. They had just reclaimed control of their overflowing emotions when the compartment door opened again, admitting a giggling Ginny and Luna. Ginny sprawled into the seat next to Hermione, while Luna took the one next to Neville, and the two laughing girls lightened the mood, banishing the darkness that had crept into Neville and Hermione's conversation. The four of them passed light and happy conversation all the way to Hogsmeade.

Stepping off the train, Hermione stopped dead. She could see the Thestrals. They were so beautiful, though she knew not everyone would think so. She found her feet leading her to one, but Luna pulled her back, a gentle hand on her arm. “You shouldn't. Leave the mystery in place for those who can't see them.” The wise words shocked Hermione, and she shook her head lightly before turning back to step into the carriage. “Thank you, Luna.”

“You're welcome, Hermione. You can always ask Mr. Hagrid if you want to visit them later. He usually doesn't mind.” Luna's musically lilting voice was a soothing balm to Hermione.

“That's a great idea. I think I'll do that one day soon.” The two girls were in a carriage with Ginny and Neville, like they'd been on the train, and the carriage began creaking its way up the road to Hogwarts. She could see just the tops of the towers, and the rest of the castle was beginning to appear around the curved road as they rounded the lake. She was excited to see if anything had been changed in the repairs, and was nearly vibrating with the excitement of returning _home_.

A cool hand reached for Hermione's arm, and Luna murmured, “Calm down. It won't have changed that much.” Her voice and the touch of her hand on Hermione's arm did serve to calm her down, but as the castle was finally revealed to her eyes, she couldn't help the rush of warmth that flooded her heart, or the tears that flooded her face. It was exactly the way it had always been. She was coming home, and it was the home she remembered. Her right hand reached for Luna's where it rested on her left forearm, and she clutched at it, needing the comfort of human touch.

Their hands clasped together tightly, and stayed that way until the carriage pulled up and stopped in front of the doors to the Entrance Hall. Squeezing Luna's hand one last time, she released her grip on it, wordlessly saying thanks. Neville was the first to exit the carriage, and he offered his hand to each girl in turn, helping them climb down.

Hermione inhaled sharply, ready to get the new year started, and took her first steps toward the large doors.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Later that night, Hermione was exploring her new rooms. There was a portrait just down to the left from The Fat Lady that served as the entrance to her private quarters. There was a small sitting room, containing a large writing desk from which she could do her work, and a comfortable arrangement of two wing-back chairs and a two-seat settee in front of the large fireplace, an oval-shaped table sitting between the seats and the fire. The wood was dark cherry with a shiny patina that bespoke its age, and the fabrics were all in black and shades of dark maroon and burgundy, with accents in a bright gold. Off to the left of the fireplace, there was a doorway leading to a spacious, but comfortable bedroom. There was another large fireplace here to the right of the door, with a window just beyond, situated within a comfortable-looking window seat. There were several cushions in the window seat, and Hermione could see herself sitting down to read for hours in that window-seat.

Further along the wall stood her bed. The Head Girl's rooms were afforded the same four-poster as the regular dorms, but instead of the single size, it was a double. The thick blanket was in the same dark red shades used in the sitting area, while the pillows were cased in gold, and the bed hangings were a deep black. There was a small nightstand next to the head of the bed, and the next well held a doorway to her own private bathroom. The bathroom also had a door from the sitting room for convenience. As she stepped through the bedroom doorway, she gasped. There was a bathtub nearly as big as the one in the Prefect's bathroom, with a large shower stall as well, and the toilet and lavatory. There were several stacks of thick, plush towels and washcloths, in the same color scheme as the rest of the rooms.

Hermione couldn't wait to try out that tub, but had some unpacking to do first. Moving back into the bedroom, she found her trunk in a niche at the foot of the bed. Between the bedroom and bathroom doors, there was a large cherry armoire, open and awaiting her clothes. She pulled out her robes and hung them in the armoire, making sure there were no wrinkles pressed into anything. Then her uniform shirts and skirts were placed on hangers and arranged on the closet bar. Stockings, tights, socks, and underwear were laid out in the top two drawers, and there were some pegs on the back of the left-hand door, awaiting her neck-ties. The bottom of the three drawers was quickly filled with the tee-shirts and shorts she used for pajamas. Lastly, her shoes were placed in the bottom cabinet.

Having put away her clothing, she wandered back into the sitting room to find a place for her books. On her first perusal of the space, she had missed the two large bookshelves nesting together between the bathroom door and the portrait entrance to the suite. They were mostly empty, but there were a few slim volumes on one shelf with a stiff piece of parchment tented upright next to them, her name printed on the front edge in green ink.

She opened the note and read through it, excited by the discovery.

_Miss Granger,_

_Welcome back to Hogwarts. Hopefully it still feels like the haven you told me it was that morning after the Battle. I have no doubts that you will quickly fill these shelves, but thought I would give you a small head-start._

_Albus gifted me with a similar set of books when I occupied this suite of rooms in the Fall of 1942, so we'll just call it a tradition and go from there. I was also given an hour of his time for tea every Saturday night to discuss the books, the research of the day, and any concerns I had regarding my future, as it was quickly approaching._

_I would extend the same invitation to you. See me after our first class to accept the offer, and I will tell you where to go and at what time._

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

Hermione was pleased with the invitation. The books were mostly on modern theories of Transfiguration, but there were a couple on Charms theory as well. She was looking forward to reading and discussing them with Professor McGonagall. Settling the slim volumes back into their spots on the shelf, she summoned all the books from her trunk, arranging them all on the shelves. She was surprised at how much room remained when they were all in place, but shrugged. _Just means I have more books to buy!_ she thought.

With all of her things unpacked, Hermione decided to try out the large bathtub and then go to bed. It had been a long day.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The morning of Saturday the 19th of September dawned bright and clear. It was set to be a beautiful day outside; the kind of day one wanted to have for their nineteenth birthday. Hermione couldn't make herself enjoy the day, however. Nearly three weeks into the term, she was bored senseless. Most of her classes were covering remedial information from sixth year material, and she wasn't learning anything new. The two weekly teas she'd had with Professor McGonagall were the only thing making her time back at Hogwarts worthwhile.

She got along with all her professors, both those she already knew and the new replacements, and she knew there was so much she could learn from all of them, but the current material was stifling her intellect, and that had never been something Hermione had borne well.

Hermione was sitting in her little window seat, propped against several cushions, with a green and red tartan throw over her legs. The morning light really was beautiful through the window, and she was reading back over the Charms book that she and Minerva were going to discuss that night. It was quite an interesting little volume, containing information on several charms, including the Patronus. It seemed that if one wanted, with enough happy memories from which to draw and enough strength of character and magic, the form of one's Patronus could be changed, either temporarily or permanently.

It was an interesting bit of magic, and Hermione filed it away for later testing, continuing to read through the book.

=======================HG/MM=======================

That evening, Hermione announced herself to the portrait guarding Minerva's private rooms, and it swung open wordlessly. She stepped through, but didn't immediately see the witch she'd come to see. “Professor?” she called out.

“Miss Granger! Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right out.” the disembodied voice of her mentor floated through the door leading to the bedroom. “The tea should be waiting if you want to go ahead and pour yourself a cup.”

“Oh, sure. Did you want me to pour yours as well?” She was already lowering herself into her normal chair in front of the fire.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

She poured both cups, leaving enough room in the other for milk to be added. Sitting back in her chair with the hot cup of tea, her eyes began to wander around the room. She frowned slightly, noticing several objects missing from their usual places.

Minerva breezed into the room, and Hermione's eyes widened with surprise. Gone were the heavy outer robes Hermione was accustomed to seeing, replaced by a dark green oxford shirt, hanging untucked over black linen slacks. The very top button was open, and the sleeves were rolled up just below the elbow. More shocking than the clothes, however, was the loose braid falling over her left shoulder down to her waist. Hermione had never seen her hair in anything but the tight bun, and it made her look twenty years younger.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Our new Transfiguration professor arrives tomorrow, and I'll be moving into the Headmistress quarters and leaving these to him. It's amazing the things that build up over fifty years in the same rooms.” She laughed quietly. “It would probably be a lot worse were it not for Mo... Well, suffice it to say that it could be much, much worse.” Minerva sat in her chair, reaching to pour the milk in her tea.

Hermione shook her head, regaining the full use of her faculties. “New professor? You're not going to continue teaching?”

“Oh, no. With the promotion to Headmistress, I simply have too much to do to keep teaching as well. I only started the year out while my replacement got his affairs in order. You'll meet Professor Sutton in your next class. I think you'll like him. He's not nearly as old and stodgy as I am, and not so stuck in his ways.” Minerva's nose wrinkled as she poked fun at herself, laughing at the characterization.

“Professor, you're neither old nor stodgy,” Hermione defended her favorite professor against herself. “Especially not in that outfit with your hair down.” She raised an eyebrow, moving her gaze over Minerva slowly.

Minerva lightly blushed at the comment, having forgotten that she had been cleaning in these clothes instead of the heavy woolen robes she normally wore. “Aye, well, not a one of my students would ever take me seriously again if I came out in this.” She took a sip of her tea. “I taught in an outfit similar to this when I first started, only with a long skirt instead of the trousers, and a loose robe over the top, but I couldn't get anyone to concentrate on their lessons. A friend of mine suggested the changes, and I've seldom had that problem since. It definitely matters what the teachers wear if they're going to demand the respect of their students.”

Hermione saw a bit of a wistful look in Minerva's eyes as she brought up her friend, and her curiosity took over. “Your friend must have been very wise.” The look in her eyes grew a bit darker and sadder.

“Oh, aye, that she was. I've not seen her for many years, but wisdom was one thing she had in spades. That and courage. It took a lot to be who she was in those days, but it never seemed to affect her the way it affected so many others. I wonder where she is now, but I've not been able to track her down.” Her voice softened and got very quiet. “I hope she made it through the war unhurt.”

The silence grew quite thick for a moment.

“I'm so sorry, Professor. I wish there was something I could do to help.” Hermione's voice was soft and gentle, and she reached a hand over to touch Minerva's arm to comfort her.

Minerva's hand reached over to pat Hermione's gently. “Thank you, lass, but there's nothing to do.” She gripped Hermione's hand tightly for a second before releasing it, Hermione taking her hand back as well. “Now, for happier tidings. As I am officially no longer your teacher, if you wish, while we are in our weekly tea meetings, you may call me Minerva. In public, I shall have to remain 'old' Professor McGonagall, but in private, we can afford to be a little less formal, I think.”

Hermione's heart swelled. “I'd like that, Minerva, and if we're being less formal in our meetings, then you must call me Hermione.”

“I was reading through the little Charms book you gave me, and I saw where it's possible to change or disguise your Patronus, but all the other information I've read on the subject states that the only way to change a Patronus is by admission of great love. Like Harry's mum and dad – his was a stag, and hers a matching doe. Or Professor Snape's doe, matching that of Harry's mum. I thought that was the only way to permanently change its form.”

“Oh, aye, and that's the most common way it happens. Not many people know there are other methods, or that it can be controlled. I've never, to my knowledge at least, known anyone with a second form. In most cases, especially amongst those of us who use them as a means of communication, it's necessary for the form to remain the same for identification's sake. For instance, if you received a Patronus message from Mr. Potter, and although it contained his voice, it was a different form, mightn't you assume it was a forged message from someone else?”

“Yes, I suppose that's true,” Hermione agreed.

The discussion went on for the better part of an hour before their time was up. The tea had all been drunk, and the last of the biscuits had been eaten.

Heading for the door, Hermione turned around to face Minerva. “Good night, Minerva. The conversation was excellent, as usual, and I look forward to meeting next week to continue.”

“Ah, yes. Next week. I almost forgot. As Professor Sutton will have taken up residence in these rooms, you will find me in the Headmistress Suite. It's just next to the office, so go to the Gargoyle and announce yourself there as usual. I'll be sure he knows to let you in the proper door.”

“I hadn't thought about it. Thank you, and I'll see you next week.”

“Good night, Hermione, and Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you! Good night!” Hermione spun around and headed back to her quarters.

=======================HG/MM=======================

As much as Hermione didn't want to like Professor Sutton, she found that she did like him, quite a bit. He was in his mid-forties, and thus was the youngest professor she'd had except for Professors Snape and Lupin. He was very amiable, and taught the class with a quiet confidence that was infective to his students. He was a former Slytherin, but like Professor McGonagall before him, he was innately fair to students from all the Houses, not showing any of the favoritism that Professor Snape had been so known for.

In the first few weeks after his late arrival, he had won the respect of his fellow teachers as well as that of most of the student body. He didn't take it so easy on the students that they had too much spare time on their hands, but neither did he pile on so much work that they had no spare time at all.

He, as well as the rest of the professors, were finally moving past the remedial studies, and Hermione was finally beginning to learn again, and her boredom began to wane. Between stimulating classes and her weekly discussions with Minerva, Hogwarts was again becoming the place she'd always loved so much. There was the added bonus, of course, that nobody was in mortal peril this year. That was a refreshing change from her first years there.

She and Neville, along with Ginny and Luna, spent a lot of time in her private sitting area. She'd long since had to add extra workspace by magically duplicating her desk, and had expanded them so that two people could sit at each one comfortably. They all used Hermione's private miniature library for reference, as well as books they had gotten from the School's Library, which they stored on a special shelf in her room. It was quieter and easier to concentrate there than in the big Library, which was commonly in use by other students, both for studying and for other, more nefarious activities. The end of the war seemed to light a fire under the student body, and there wasn't a dark corner safe this year from secret snogging sessions.

Hermione found herself constantly surprised by Luna Lovegood. Ever since the Thestral incident and carriage ride, she was often distracted by the younger witch during their studies. She guessed she should have known how smart the Ravenclaw was, but it all stayed buried so often under the veneer of nargles and crumple-horned snorkacks. Staying in such close proximity to her this year, however, her intellect began to shine through that veneer, and it was causing an uncomfortable feeling to rise when they were together.

It didn't help that Luna had become incredibly handsy. The blonde witch was always finding some way to brush her hand or arm against Hermione, or somehow making sure that Neville and Ginny took the two wing-back seats in front of the fire, leaving the settee to the two of them so that their legs would press together while they sat. Hermione would frequently find that Luna's head had drifted over onto her shoulder while they were reading, and the itch to do something about it was desperately in need of a good scratch. The problem was that she didn't know if Luna leaned that way, or if she was just being extra affectionate. For all she knew, Luna was like that with all her close friends. This argument was mostly nullified by her actions with Neville and Ginny; neither of them got the treatment she'd been receiving, leaving Hermione to make the conclusion that Luna did lean in that direction, and had been making herself known for weeks.

Did she want to try and do something about it? Yes.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Lips were moving together, against each other, before one set opened slightly in invitation. The invitation was accepted with a light moan, and a tongue darted out to taste the other. This was no war, no fighting ensued. As easily as the lips had moved together, the tongues gently caressed each other. Hermione leaned over Luna, deepening the kiss while sweeping a hand upward from where it had been resting on the slim waist, softly touching the swell of Luna's breast. She pulled back from the kiss before going further, looking into Luna's eyes, silently asking permission. Without audibly saying yes, Luna took a deep breath and surged forward, reconnecting the kiss and pressing Hermione's hand further into the touch with her own hand before reaching up to tangle her fingers into the riotous curls at the base of Hermione's skull, tugging lightly.

It was Halloween night, and had started much like any other Halloween. They had all gone to the Feast, and Hermione had finally seized the chance to take action as she'd resolved days earlier. As they were being dismissed from the Feast, Hermione said her good-nights to Ginny and Neville, and stopped Luna to ask if she'd like to come up for a while. They had walked mostly in silence, both feeling that something big was going to happen, but neither willing to give it a voice.

They'd sat next to each other on the settee, and the silence between them was palpable. Finally working up the courage to say something, Hermione had blurted out, “I'm risking our friendship here, but I'm really hoping I haven't completely misread things and that you're actually interested in something … more, and damn it all, I'd really like to kiss you. If you're not opposed to the idea.” She felt incredibly awkward, and then Luna's musical voice answered her.

“Oh, good. You finally realized it wasn't just the wrackspurts.” She had crossed the distance between them and pressed her lips against Hermione's, leading to their current situation. Hermione had quickly taken control, and was now reaching for her wand to lengthen the settee to give them more room.

The charm successfully cast, her wand clattered to the floor unheeded, and she reclaimed Luna's mouth with her own. Until the blonde witch had done it, Hermione hadn't known that she liked the sensation of her hair being pulled, but the discomfort it caused only stoked the flames of her desire further. Tearing her lips from Luna's, she trailed kisses along her jawline, down along her neck to where her pulse was beating furiously. The tender spot found, she laid more pressure with her lips and began to suck in, reddening the skin and leaving her mark behind. Luna hissed at the sensation, and brought her hands to Hermione's face, pushing her back with a gentle pressure. “No marks.” Hermione released the pressure immediately, pulling back to look into the face of her friend. “It might be best if we stop for now, Hermione.”

“If that's what you want.” Hermione sat back, helping Luna to sit up as well, the two still facing each other on the lengthened couch.

“No, I want more,” she frowned, “but somehow I'm sensing that this is more of an experiment to you. Maybe you do and maybe you don't want me, but either way, I don't think this is the time to go any further than we have tonight.”

Hermione could see the wisdom in what was being said, but couldn't help but feel a bit hurt.

Luna's hand reached up to cup her cheek. “Don't take this the wrong way. I very much enjoyed myself tonight, and have been hoping you would come to terms with that part of yourself for some time. I just feel like this is you just starting to come to terms with … alternative desires, whereas I've been aware of myself and who I prefer for a couple years. I'm just glad that you've lived up to my expectations of you; you were every bit as good as I'd hoped you would be.” She watched as Hermione's face flushed. “And I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat performance sometime. I just think this is enough for tonight.”

“I'd like that.” Hermione didn't trust herself to say more just then.

“It's nearing curfew anyway, and I should be heading back to my own room for the night.” She leaned forward and pressed one last chaste kiss to Hermione's lips before standing to leave. “Good night, Hermione. Sleep well.”

She didn't really think sleep would be possible, but still she stood and bade her friend a good night in return. After Luna had gone, Hermione sank back down onto the couch, her fingers tracing her lips. At last she had the answer to a question she'd been asking for a long time: yes, girls' lips were softer.

=======================HG/MM=======================

November and early December were filled with clandestine meetings, the two girls finding that every time they were alone in Hermione's sitting room, they couldn't keep their hands – or lips – to themselves. Hermione was learning the map of Luna's body with a very hands-on approach. It was the thirteenth of December, the final Sunday night before Christmas holidays. The thought of two weeks apart made her more aggressive than normal, and she'd suggested that they move from the sitting room into the bedroom. Luna studied her face, concentrating on her eyes for several minutes, before softly whispering yes. Hermione's heart flip-flopped in her chest, and she stood and led Luna by the hand through the door slowly, drawing out the suspense of the moment.

The night would become one of the most special in her memory, filled with a combination of gentle and hard caresses and strokes, gasping breaths, questing fingers and lips and tongues. Bare skin glided over bare skin, and in turn, both girls shouted their completion to the heavens, spiraling back down to a bed definitely made worse for the wear. Hermione pulled the blankets back over the pair of them, lying on her back with Luna curled into her side with her head resting on Hermione's chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of Luna's head, dimmed the lights with her wand before tucking it under her pillow, and they both fell asleep.

It was still dark when Hermione woke, alone. “Luna?” she called out quietly.

“I'm here. Just getting dressed so I can be in my own dorm before it's time to get up. We have classes today, and I don't want to get in trouble for leaving from the wrong place.” She finished buttoning her robes and sat on the edge of the bed next to Hermione, her hand seeking out that of her lover. Grasping it delicately, she pulled it up and placed a soft kiss on its palm. “I was going to wake you before I left. I didn't want to leave the wrong impression, because last night was lovely.” She leaned down and kissed Hermione lovingly before sitting back up. “I do have to go though.”

Hermione nodded, “I didn't even think about that when we fell asleep.” Her hand was still being held by Luna, and she twined their fingers together. “I don't know how I'm going to make it through today without turning red at every thought of you. You're amazing.”

“You'll make it, and so shall I.” She colored up herself at the last comment. “And I'm no more amazing than you.” She leaned down for one last kiss before releasing Hermione's hand and standing up. “If I don't go now, I won't make it before everyone else starts waking up, wondering where I am.” Hermione shifted in the bed, the blanket falling off her chest, baring it to the cold morning air. “You make it very difficult to leave you, you know. Horrible habit.”

Hermione laughed and covered herself back up. “I do what I can. Be careful on your way back. Don't get caught, hm?”

“I won't.” Luna flashed a brilliant smile at Hermione, totally unlike her normal dreamy half-smiles. “I've learned all the best ways to sneak back into my dorm over the last couple months. You keep me here far too close to curfew most nights.”

“If it all led to this, then I can't pretend to be sorry. Now scoot, before you get detention with Filch. I want more opportunities to keep you out until curfew this week.”

They both laughed at Hermione's cheek, but with a quick goodbye kiss, Luna did manage to leave, and made it back to her dorm just in the nick of time to avoid detection.

Hermione stretched languidly, enjoying the sensation of the luxurious sheets sliding against her naked skin. Deciding she didn't have enough time to go back to sleep, she took a long, hot bath before getting dressed and heading down to the Great Hall to start her day.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Tuesday morning, she received an owl from Harry at breakfast, asking if she was coming home for the holidays. Of course, that was her plan, but the developments in her relationship with Luna had her worried about a confrontation with Ron, who she would be sure to see if she left the castle.

Previous letters with Harry had revealed Ron's decision to pursue his Quidditch career rather than the position in the Auror office with Harry. He seemed to be enjoying it so far, which had been a relief to Hermione. She had worried that his prior confidence issues on the pitch would rear their heads again, but that didn't appear to be the case, at least to this point. Harry was greatly enjoying the rigors of Auror training. As promised by Kingsley, nobody gave him any special attention for being who he was, and the semi-anonymity of just being Auror-Trainee Potter was liberating. Of course, everyone _knew_ who he was, but they all treated him just the same as they treated everyone else.

She debated on whether or not to go back for two days, but Thursday night, she decided that even though it would be painful, she needed to let Ron know what was going on and quit letting him think there was something more between them than there actually was. She penned a short note to Harry, letting him know that yes, she was coming back, and asking him to have Kreacher prepare her rooms.

The upcoming drama with Ron aside, she really was looking forward to spending some time with Harry again. He was truly her best friend, and she missed seeing him every day.

And … it would be okay with Ron, wouldn't it? ...Wouldn't it?

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: I will likely be fucking with a lot of canon ships, but will probably leave a few untouched. I hold nothing sacrosanct.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this and will keep reading to see what happens next.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Ron was on an exhibition match trip, so Hermione had a short reprieve before the inevitable drama was to begin. 

Her brain was in overdrive, going over all the different ways the conversation could go, and sleep was out of the question. She threw the covers off with a huff, and got out of bed. She was thinking maybe a cup of hot cocoa would help, or maybe an herbal tea that didn't have any caffeine. It was amazing what a soothing hot beverage could do to help settle her brain sometimes. She threw a cotton bathrobe over her pajamas and made her way quietly down to the kitchen. She knew she could have called Kreacher and gotten whatever she wanted, no matter the time, but there was something to the process of making things herself that helped with getting to sleep. 

She opened the cupboard next to the sink and found supplies for either drink. She decided on the Tulsi Leaf tea, to help her relax rather than something that would force her to sleep. Grabbing the kettle, she filled it with water and set it on the stove to heat. She was standing in front of the sink, one foot arched on top of the other, her hands spread to either side holding on to the rim of the cold steel sink. Her brain was still running circles around the conversation to come, and she was oblivious to her surroundings. 

So when a warm hand touched her arm, she jumped, her elbow connecting painfully with the person behind her, and she fell backward onto her arse, cursing loudly. 

“Merlin, Hermione. Your elbow's sharper than I remember.” Harry was rubbing his chest where her elbow had made contact. 

“Well you shouldn't sneak up on someone like that,” she snapped, standing and rubbing her abused posterior with both hands, wincing. 

“I wasn't sneaking!” he quietly exclaimed. “I called your name at least five times, but you were off lost in thought.” The kettle started to whistle. “Here, sit down. I'll fix us both a cup.” 

She sat, and he got another mug down, plopping a bag of chamomile into it, before nearly filling both mugs with water. He grabbed a couple spoons and the mugs and carried it all to the table. While they were waiting for the tea to steep, he asked, “Now what were you thinking about so hard that you didn't hear me? You look like you need to talk to someone, and I'm here for you.” 

She breathed in deeply, looking everywhere but his face, trying to make up her mind if she wanted to confide in Harry. He reached over and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, and her resolve crumbled. “Oh, Harry,” she breathed. “I don't know what to do.” 

“Tell me what's going on and we'll get it sorted. We always do, don't we?” His voice was gentle and low, his eyes were soft and filled with their history and love, and his fingers were warm against her chin. Faced with all this, who could resist telling all? 

“How much has Ron said about us?” 

“Not much, honestly. I know he was a right git for a few days after you and Gin left, but then I started Auror training and he started Quidditch training and he seemed to get better.” 

“I told him the night before I left that we should take a break and be free agents while we were going to be apart for so long. I didn't want either of us to have an opportunity for something else present itself and not be able to explore it without feeling like we were cheating. He agreed, reluctantly, but we were both crying, and later that night, he came up to my room and we ...” she stopped, unable to say the words to her brother in all but blood. 

“You had sex.” 

She nodded sharply. “Yes. And I let him sleep through our leaving the next morning.” 

Harry exhaled with a soft whoosh. “That explains him being a git. That wasn't a very nice thing to do to him, Hermione.” 

“I know, Harry, I know. But it hadn't changed anything between us. There were still going to be all these months apart, and as much as I love him, I... it's not like that.” Her voice got deathly quiet, and she steeled herself for what was coming. “The truth is that I like both boys and girls, and over the last couple of months, I found myself attracted to someone. And she's attracted back. And we're in a relationship.” A vague smile graced her lips as she thought about Sunday night with Luna. “It's really good, Harry. Easy. And I feel things with her that I never felt with Ron. We might not be together forever, but for now, it's just … good.” 

“Oh. That's not quite what I was expecting to hear.” Her eyes were pleading with her friend to understand and accept her in this. “Okay. You know I love you no matter who you choose. I don't care about that; I love you. You need to know that before I go any further.” Relief washed over her like a warm summer shower. “But...” _Oh, gods, there would be a but._ “But Hermione, this summer, you treated him like a certainty. Then you said you wanted a break and followed up on it by having sex with him and followed up on that by leaving the next morning before he woke up, as though you were ashamed of what you'd done. We haven't written each other a lot since September, but from what I gather, you haven't written even one letter to him. Now you show up – at Christmas – and are what, planning to tell him about this girl you're with as though he never mattered? That's … cruel, Hermione.” 

Her face fell at how badly Harry was construing her actions. He was one of a very few people whose opinions truly mattered to her, and she needed him to understand. “That's not entirely fair, Harry. Yes, I left him that morning with no explanation, but we'd had that discussion the night before. I don't know why he came into my room that night, and honestly I don't know why I let things happen the way they did, but as I said, it changed nothing. Could I have written a letter trying to explain? Sure, but I would never put something that personal in writing instead of having the discussion face-to-face, and there has been no chance for that. 

“I was selfish. I was so happy to be going back to Hogwarts that I let that desire take over everything. And then the very reason I gave him for the break came up. I never, ever expected that, Harry. You have to believe that. I was just making it through my days: classes, homework, reading, more classes, more homework, more reading. Neville and Ginny and Luna were there during a lot of the reading and homework, but for all of it, I was lonely. I missed you and I missed Ron. Merlin help me, sometimes I missed Parvati and Lavender and their inane chatter in the dorm. Then Halloween came, and with it this opportunity to explore something new, and I seized it. I grabbed hold with both hands and haven't looked back, because everything else aside, it isn't complicated. It isn't full of all the reasons it should be wrong. I am happy, Harry, and I know it's selfish to be happy while Ron's been pining away or whatever, but she makes me happy and I can't find the wrong in it.” 

A throat cleared in the doorway. “I, uh, haven't been pining.” 

Hermione's eyes closed, unable to face the owner of that voice. 

Harry looked back and forth between them, unsure what to do. He could see the hurt written on Hermione's face, and the shame she'd been hiding at how she'd treated Ron. He glanced back over at Ron, and a subtle nod of the ginger's head had him scrambling to his feet. “I'll just … I'll go. Let you two talk.” 

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Ron's voice was low and quiet, completely unlike either Harry or Hermione were expecting. 

“Yeah. Good night.” A last frantic glance at Hermione, still frozen with her eyes closed at the table, and then he was gone, scampering up the stairs to his room. 

Ron shrugged off his overcoat, banishing it up to his own room. He walked over to the sink and grabbed a clean mug and bag of tea, not caring what the blend was. He filled his mug with water from the still-hot kettle, and brought it all back to the table, sitting on the bench opposite Hermione, where Harry had just been sitting. 

“Your tea looks like it's ready, Hermione. Go ahead and drink it. Don't let me disturb you.” He reached to remove the bag from her mug, stirring in a spoon of sugar and placing the mug close to her hand so she could feel its heat. 

“Ron, I... how much did you hear?” Her voice was cracking and tears had begun to leak from her eyes. 

“Pretty much everything, I think. The kettle was just whistling when I came in.” He was stirring at his cup of tea, trying to rush the steeping by squishing the bag against the sides of the mug repeatedly. 

“Oh god, Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out like that.” Tears were streaming down her face by then. 

“You know, I should be upset. I really should, but I'm not. You were fairly clear that night that we weren't to be exclusive while we were apart. I actually came up there to let you know that while I might not agree, I actually could see the wisdom in what you'd said. But then you moaned like that and I wasn't strong enough to say no. I love you, I probably always will, and I couldn't refuse the offer, even though I should have. In the end, I think it was both hello and goodbye written together. When I woke up alone the next morning, I knew it was over. If we'd truly felt for each other what we'd thought we felt, you wouldn't have been able to leave like that, and I wouldn't have been so at peace with it. I wanted to write you and let you know that I'd understood, but it's like you told Harry, it's not something you put in a letter, and we just haven't had the opportunity to meet and hash it all out until now.” 

Her eyes shot open, searching his face for evidence of untruth, but finding nothing. What she found was sadness, of course, but also acceptance and a total lack of guile. “I...” 

“It's okay, 'Mione. I've had months to come to grips with everything.” He paused, “Well, almost everything. A girl?” One of his eyebrows shot upward. “I figured you'd struck up something with Neville since he went back also, but I never figured you for the dyke type. You never mentioned to Harry... who is she? Is it someone I know?” 

She stammered, “I... yes. You know her. Quite well, actually. But I don't want to out someone without permission, so I'm sorry, but I can't tell you her name.” 

He took a sip of his tea, wincing at the bitterness that came from trying to force the process. 

“Here, take Harry's. It's had time to steep properly, and I don't think he's coming back. It's chamomile though, so you'll probably want a bit of sugar.” She pushed Harry's mug toward him. 

“Ah. Cheers.” He did add two spoons of sugar and stirred it in before taking a sip. “Much better. Thanks.” He laughed quietly. “So it's a girl who I know well, in your own social circle, and is someone you would feel comfortable enough to make a move on. Honestly Hermione, that pretty much only leaves Gin or Luna, and as much as I love you and her, I don't think it's my sister.” 

Her eyes widened at his insight, unconsciously confirming his idea. “Alright, alright, no need to twist your knickers just because I got something right for once. Drink your tea before it gets cold.” He took another sip of his tea, as though trying to show her what to do. 

She laughed at his antics and sipped from her mug, appreciating the flavor of the Tulsi Leaf. “I only came down to have tea because I was worried about you and your reaction to everything. I don't think I'll actually need it to get to sleep now.” She yawned broadly, proving her point. “See?” she laughed drowsily. 

“Yep, I think you'll be fine. Go on up. I'll sort all this mess before Kreacher has to.” He started gathering up the mugs and spoons to wash. Hermione yawned again and pulled her wand from where she'd stashed it in her nightly braid. “Are you a witch or aren't you?” she giggled, casting cleaning charms on all the dishes and the table, banishing the spent tea bags to the garbage, before magically putting the dishes where they went. 

“Technically speaking, love, I'm a wizard, but it's a witch you want, maybe I can accommodate.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and they both dissolved into fits of laughter. 

“You're a cheeky git. Now come on, it's time for bed.” She paused for half a moment. “Alone.” 

“Yep, all by ourselves.” They walked together up the stairs and parted at her door. She watched him continue down the hall to his own door before calling out, “Ron?” 

He stopped, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?” 

“We're okay, then?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Because you're one of my best friends and I don't want to lose you over what could have been.” 

“You won't, 'Mione. G'night.” 

“Night, Ron. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

And they both went inside their respective bedrooms. Hermione removed the thin cotton robe and dropped it to the floor before collapsing onto the bed, pulling the sheets and blanket over herself. She was asleep within minutes. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it's a short update this time, but I needed to get this confession/conversation out of the way, and there's a lot happening in the next chapter, so I didn't want this dominating it.
> 
> I know a lot of us who write the non-Ron/Hermione ships tend to villainize Ron, and initially, I was going to do it, too. However, what started as a late-night chat with Harry twisted into this, and I couldn't help but run with it. I've never hated Ron as a character; I just don't think that he and Hermione are as compatible as JKR makes them out to be. So I'm sorry if you like the villain Ron, but he won't be making an appearance here.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Re: Ron's acceptance and maturity. My idea is that after abandoning Harry and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt, the time he had to spend without them, knowing it was all his fault, and that of the Horcrux once he was free of its influence made him mature just a little bit. Being helpless while Bellatrix tortured Hermione later made him further aware of how easily he could lose the people close to him. Then Fred's (or here, Percy's) death in the final battle made it all terribly real. So yes, he matured, and not overnight. And he'd had months to come to terms with the situation with Hermione, so I don't think it was out of character as some are assuming.
> 
> That's pretty much all I have to say about that, paraphrasing a classic line from Forrest Gump.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

  
=======================HG/MM======================= 

A few words between Harry and Ron the next morning cleared everything up, and the rest of the holidays passed in happiness. They spent Christmas and Boxing Day at The Burrow, much to the joy of Molly and Arthur, who were feeling their empty nest especially strongly this year. 

Bill and Fleur were living their lives at Shell Cottage. Charlie was, as ever, off caring for the Dragons in Romania. Fred and George were in the flat above their shop. Ron was splitting his time between the Burrow and the CM, but found himself spending more time away from the Burrow as time passed. Ginny was off at Hogwarts, still technically under her parents' roof, but much of her time during breaks was spent with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the CM. 

Everyone had made it back for the days surrounding Christmas, however, and the nest was full again. Rooms were full to capacity, even rooms that hadn't been used for quite some time. With Harry bunking in with Ron and Hermione in with Ginny, Charlie would have been relegated to the sofa, but for Hermione's quick thinking. She searched through her little beaded bag and found the tent Bill had loaned her. She triumphantly put it up out in the garden, and soon Charlie was fighting with the Twins over the right to sleep in it rather than in the crowded house. In the end, they all three shared it, none of them willing to give in. 

There were gifts exchanged, pranks pulled thanks to the Twins, and much food and drink consumed, to the great delight of Molly Weasley and her cooking habits. It was a happy holiday for all involved. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

New Year's Eve found the intrepid Golden Trio, along with Ginny, at the CM. They'd gotten ahold of some Muggle fruity barely-alcoholic drinks, and had started in on them. 

Hermione was making a face at the flavor of the drink she'd picked up, and found herself wishing they'd just gotten Butterbeer and mixed in a little firewhiskey to pick up the alcoholic content. 

“Not very good, are they?” remarked Harry, making his own face at the taste. 

“No,” she replied, casting a quick _Tempus_ to see what time it was. 9:37. Not too late to hit up the Leaky Cauldron for something better, then. “I think I'll just pop over to the Leaky and pick up some butterbeer.” 

“Good idea. These 'alcopop' things the Muggle shop owner recommended are rubbish.” Harry agreed. 

“Any requests for anything else? Ron? Ginny?” 

“Butterbeer and either firewhiskey or vodka sounds great to me,” said Ron, and Ginny agreed with him. 

“Right then. Back in a tick.” She dropped the Muggle beverage in the bin on her way to the back door. She stepped out into the gently falling snow and turned her face up to catch a couple flakes on her eyelashes. The cold made her shiver slightly in the thin jumper she'd worn, so with concentration and just a slight turn, she disapparated, appearing a moment later outside the London's Wizarding Pub. 

She headed inside the derelict-looking building, thankful for the warmth of the large fire as it warmed the room. She made her way over to the bar, noticing the lack of expected patrons in the room. 

“Good evening, Tom!” she greeted the aged barkeep. 

“Miss Granger, a pleasure as always. What can I do for you tonight?” His grumpy voice belied the positive nature of his words. 

“Can I get, oh, two dozen butterbeers, and a bottle each of mid-grade firewhiskey and vodka?” She clarified mid-grade because she didn't want the cheapest disgusting swill he sold, but didn't want to pay a couple hundred galleons for a bottle, either. 

“Certainly, Miss Granger. One moment.” He walked off to fill her order, grumbling under his breath. 

She stood there, glancing around the mostly-empty room, when the fireplace flames grew green and someone emerged from the Floo. The new visitor cast a charm to rid themselves of soot and looked up. Hermione smiled brightly, seeing the face of her girlfriend reveal itself. Luna smiled rather broadly herself when she saw Hermione, and she quickly crossed the room, throwing herself into unsuspecting arms. 

“I'm so happy to see you,” Luna said, her words muffled from her head being buried in Hermione's chest. 

Hermione tightened her arms around Luna's waist. “I'm happy to see you, too. Is anything wrong?” She was a little worried at the very public embrace. 

“Not really. I've just really been missing you,” she mumbled, head still buried. Hermione leaned her head down to rest on top of Luna's. “I've missed you, too.” 

They stayed that way until Tom came out with her rather large order. “Here you are, Miss Granger. As requested.” 

The girls sprang apart, and Hermione inspected the firewhiskey and vodka, as though she knew what she was looking at. “Fine, fine. Everything looks to be in order, Tom. How much do I owe you?” 

“Twenty Galleons even, Miss.”  * 

She handed over the currency and shrank everything, carefully placing it in her beaded bag. “Thank you, Tom.” 

“Thank you.” 

She turned back to Luna, “What are you doing out tonight? Fancy coming over? We have plenty to drink, and if you're hungry, we could probably pull something together.” 

“I'm not hungry, and I don't drink much, but I'd like the company, if you don't mind.” Her head tilted to one side. 

“Of course I don't mind.” She smiled brightly again and subtly reached for Luna's hand. Luna accepted the gesture and they walked back out the front door. 

“I don't have my license yet. Can you side-along, or should I go back in and take the Floo?” Luna's musical voice floated across the frigid air. 

“I can side-along you, no problem.” She released Luna's hand and pulled the blonde witch into her side, feeling Luna's arms wrap securely around her waist. She wrapped her arm around Luna's shoulders, placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, and apparated both of them away to the back-yard of the CM. They stood there, the snow gently falling, arms still wrapped around each other, enjoying the moment of closeness. Hermione shivered, reminding them that she hadn't put on a robe or jacket. The moment broken, they separated and went inside. 

Stepping inside the kitchen, Hermione shuddered, the cold falling off quickly as the heat reached her. Luna swung her robe off and hung it from a peg by the door. Hermione opened her bag and pulled out the miniaturized drinks, restoring them to normal size once they were all on the table. She set the bag down on the table and turned to where Luna was standing, watching with a dreamy smile as she watched Hermione sorted out the drinks. She smiled at the vision caused by the firelight streaming through the artful halo of floating blonde hair surrounding Luna's head. 

She held her hand out for Luna's, and when the hold was accepted, she gently pulled her over to the table, sitting on one of the long benches, tugging to indicate that Luna should sit as well. Once they were both seated, Hermione looked into the grey eyes of her girlfriend and asked, “I haven't told anyone we're together because I didn't want to 'out' you without permission. Ron guessed when we discussed things, but I never actually confirmed his guess. So it's up to you how we go in there. I don't mind acting as though we're just friends, but if you don't mind, I'd really like to tell them. It's just Harry and Ron and Ginny. Although if we tell them tonight, I'd like to tell Neville when we get back to school as well, because that wouldn't really be fair to Neville. He's been a good friend, especially this year, and we haven't always been very kind to him, and I feel rather badly about that, so...” Luna stopped her babbling with a finger to the lips. 

“Shh. Quit rambling. I'm happy to tell them, and Neville when we get back. I have nothing to hide.” Luna smiled at Hermione, a mysterious half-smile behind which Hermione hadn't quite grasped the meaning. 

Hermione beamed, “Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you or anything.” 

“You’re not pressuring me. Like I said, I have nothing to hide from anyone.” Luna paused for a moment. “Are _you_ sure?” 

“Absolutely.” The brilliant beam was still on Hermione’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a sharper, more predatory look as she quickly pulled Luna into a tight embrace, pressing their chests together, reaching up to cradle Luna’s head between her hands. She immediately tilted her head down and moved in hungrily for the kiss. She gave no choice for a gentle meeting of lips, instantly dominating the other witch’s mouth with her own, tongue sweeping in, met eagerly by its counterpart. Luna’s arms wrapped around Hermione, her hands reaching up to grip each of her shoulders, melting into the warm embrace of her girlfriend. 

They kissed for several minutes before hands began to roam, setting each other up for something they couldn’t finish that night, especially while in the kitchen. Hermione finally broke the kiss off, resting their foreheads against each other, eyes closed, both girls breathing hard. 

“We should probably go in. They’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long to pick up some drinks.” She opened her eyes and brought her head back up, taking in the flush on Luna’s cheeks and the swollen lips that would be a dead giveaway to their activities. “You’re beautiful with my kisses written on your face, you know.” Luna’s eyes fluttered open to meet her gaze. 

“So are you. Then again, you’re beautiful all the time.” Luna breathed the words out, and they almost drifted into another kiss, but were interrupted by Kreacher popping into the room. At the crack of his apparition, the girls jumped apart, in _Saviari interruptus_. 

“Oh, Mistress Hermione. You’re back.” The aged House-Elf had revised his opinion on Muggle-borns, or at least his opinion on _this_ Muggle-born, starting when they’d been in the house before acquiring the locket Horcrux, and continuing when she’d headed the clean-up of the CM over the summer. Asking his advice on the best and most respectful way to dispose of the Elf-heads had been the proverbial last straw in his reluctance to both trust and like the witch. It was after the burial that he had begun to refer to her as his Mistress, as he called Harry his Master. Ron and Ginny were still Mister and Miss, but were held in nearly as high regard as his current opinions on Harry and Hermione. 

“And who has the Mistress brought with her?” He croaked out in his bullfrog voice. 

“Kreacher, this is Luna Lovegood, friend of both myself and Harry. She’ll be with us for our New Year celebration tonight.” 

Kreacher bowed slightly, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. “Is there anything Kreacher can get for the Mistress or her guest? If you are hungry, Kreacher can put something together very quickly. It would be no problem for Kreacher. Kreacher is pleased to serve his Master and Mistress.” 

Remembering that Luna had said she wasn’t hungry, Hermione replied, “No, Kreacher, we don’t need anything to eat, but thank you for offering.” 

He looked disappointed to not be needed, but bowed again. “Then if Kreacher is not needed, Kreacher will go to bed now. If the Master or Mistress want anything, they need only call his name.” 

“Thank you, Kreacher. Good night.” She smiled at him as he crawled into the last space that had been renovated in the old house. They had finally talked him into allowing himself a bed and a clean quilt instead of the dirty tangle of blankets that had been in there before. Hermione had even made him a small set of shelves to hold his treasures, the greatest of which was still the fake locket Harry had given him. One of her goals was to find some of the other items Mundungus had stolen from the house and get them back. Merlin knew Harry didn’t want them around, but she thought Kreacher might want them. She didn’t know much about the average life-span of a house-elf, but from his appearance and demeanor, she assumed he probably didn’t have a huge amount of time left, and as she would for anyone else in that position, she wanted to make his time comfortable. 

“He seems like an agreeable elf, and very well-spoken as well,” Luna remarked. 

“He wasn’t always so agreeable; we’ve had to work really hard on that. You’re right, though, he is incredibly well-spoken. Maybe that’s due to his age. I’ve never asked.” 

Hermione stood up and grabbed several bottles of butterbeer from the table. “Alright, come on. Let’s get the party started. Could you bring the whiskey and vodka, please?” Luna picked up the bottles as requested, and followed Hermione into the library where Harry, Ginny, and Ron were waiting. 

“Look alive,” she shouted as they came through the door. “We’ve got company, and we’ve got decent drinks!” She sat the butterbeer on a coffee table before banishing several empty bottles of the Muggle alcopops they’d been drinking when she left away to the bin out back. 

There was a chorus of “Hello Luna!” from the three of them. They were each sitting in their own settee, leaving no space for Hermione and Luna to sit together. Eyeing the girls and the seating arrangement, Ron got up and sat beside his sister. 

“Oy! What’d you do that for?” Ginny asked irately. 

“So Hermione and Luna can sit together.” 

“They don’t have to sit together, git.” Seeing the girls settling into the now-empty settee as Ron had intended, she got up with a huff and sat next to Harry, leaning into his side and causing him to blush furiously. 

Ron shrugged and stretched out, filling his settee by laying his arms to either side along the back frame and angling his hips to allow his legs to straighten out, resting one ankle over the other. 

There was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Ginny was curling further into Harry to try and dig at Ron, Harry was awkwardly trying to get comfortable in the onslaught, Ron was relaxing admirably with a butterbeer in hand, and Hermione and Luna were each sipping at a butterbeer while discreetly holding hands in between their legs. 

Then Harry noticed the hand-holding and shot straight up in his seat, knocking Ginny to the floor. His gaze was moving quickly between their faces and their joined hands, putting the dots together. “Luna, Hermione? And how did Ron know you would want to sit together? You told him, but didn’t tell me? For crying out loud!” He stood and paced in front of the fire, his emotions flashing through his eyes. 

Hermione stood, releasing Luna’s hand, and got angry right back at him. “It’s not as though I had a _chance_ to tell you after he came in and interrupted our discussion! And like I told Ron that night, I would never _EVER_ violate someone’s privacy like that without prior approval! It was hard enough admitting to _you_ about _myself_ without outing someone else in the process. _My_ relationships have nothing to do with _you_ , Harry Potter, and I’ll thank you to remember that!” She quit yelling, chest heaving and eyes flashing. 

The other occupants of the room were sitting, nervously staring between Harry and Hermione, not used to them fighting like this anymore. Ginny had gotten back up into her seat and was looking at Luna, who was blushing lightly at the attention. “So … I take it Hermione and Luna are in a relationship? That’s great news. Congratulations to both of you.” 

Her remarks cut the tension in the room, and Harry stopped pacing to look down at his shoes, embarrassed at his outburst. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in deeply to regain her calm. Sitting back next to Luna and grabbing her hand, she took another swig from her butterbeer bottle and then curtly said, “Yes.” Another swig from the bottle and she added, more softly, “Thank you.” 

“Now, see, Hermione, that wasn’t awkward at all. Nothing to worry about.” Luna’s voice further calmed Hermione down, and the younger witch gripped the hand between them a little tighter. Hermione looked over at Luna, who winked cheekily, forcing a rush of laughter to bubble out of Hermione’s mouth. 

The affection between them obvious, Harry sheepishly sat back down next to Ginny and collapsed back into the seat. “I’m sorry, Hermione and Luna. I over-reacted. Of course I support your right to be with whoever you want. Like I told you last week, I love you no matter what. I just … you said a girl, but I wasn’t expecting Luna to be her.” He summoned a bottle of butterbeer and took a long sip of its contents. 

“Who did you think it was, Harry, Gin?” He spewed butterbeer in an impressive spray, managing to get a bit on every one of the room’s occupants. 

Ginny raised one eyebrow suggestively, “Oh, is that the fantasy, Hermione? ‘Cause I could probably be persuaded.” 

Hermione choked on her own drink, but managed to keep it all in her mouth, unlike Harry, who lost yet another sip to a dribble down his chin. 

“Come on, Gin! I don’t need that image in my head! You’re my sister!” Ron’s shout of outrage was humorous to everyone except himself. 

“Er – no, I’m good, thanks.” Hermione squeaked out. 

The silence from before took over the room again for a minute before Ginny started snickering, causing an avalanche of healing laughter from everyone else. The laughter effectively cleared the tension in the room, and their normal conversation resumed as though the strange turns of events had never happened. 

Soon, they began to get into the harder liquor, and by a quarter to midnight, everyone but Luna was completely sloshed, and even she was slightly tipsy. The blonde witch leaned over to whisper in Hermione’s ear, “I should really be heading home. I’m sure Daddy will be expecting me soon.” 

“Okay. Give me just a second and I’ll get you home.” Hermione summoned a warm cloak from upstairs. With it draped over one arm, she stood a little unsteadily and announced, “Okay. I’m taking Luna home now. I’ll be back.” She drew Luna into her side, her right arm tightly wrapped around her waist. Luna’s left arm draped itself around Hermione’s back, and the two of them left the room to a round of loud catcalls from their friends. 

At the back door, Hermione released her hold on Luna long enough to swing the thick cloak around her shoulders, and Luna grabbed her own from the peg on the wall. They stepped out into a thick swirl of snowflakes. Feeling the effects of her drinks, Hermione stuck her arms out to either side, leaned her head back, and turned a few graceful circles, dancing alone in the snow. Luna stood close to the door, the wind blowing her loose hair to one side across her face, watching Hermione’s antics with that mysterious smile on her face again. 

Hermione stopped her turns and grabbed Luna’s hands, pulling her further out into the yard. With the snow collecting in their hair and lashes, Luna decided that the brunette was too desirable to leave unmolested and leaned in for a sweet, chaste kiss. Hermione leaned into the kiss, keeping it light. 

Their eyes fluttered open and lips tore apart at a series of muffled booming noises erupted in the background. Seemingly from nowhere, showers of brightly colored sparks streamed overhead, lighting up the midnight sky. Hermione grinned stupidly. “Fireworks. The Muggle show for the New Year. Must mean it’s Midnight.” She looked back down at Luna. “Happy New Year.” Luna’s attention was diverted away from the fireworks and back to Hermione. 

“Happy New Year.” Their lips met again in a soft, brief kiss. “I think you may not be in the best shape to get me home. Maybe I should just take the Floo.” 

Hermione pouted slightly at not being able to be the adult and take her girlfriend home. “The Floo system’s probably backed up.” She thought for a second before snapping her fingers. “I’ve got it. Kreacher!” 

A minute or so passed, the girls standing in the snow, still holding each other by both hands. Kreacher appeared with a light pop. 

“Yes, Mistress? What can Kreacher do for you?” He didn’t seem to be affected by the cold in the snowy yard. 

She felt guilty for waking him up, but he really was the best option. “I’m so sorry to wake you, Kreacher, but I seem to be a little intock… drunk, and Luna is in need of an escort home. She doesn’t have her apparition license yet, and I thought the Floo network might be a bit busy just now.” She paused to cast a light warming charm on both herself and Luna. “Is there any way you could take her to her home?” 

“If that is what Kreacher’s Mistress wants, then that is what Kreacher will do.” He croaked out the words with a bow. 

“Thank you so much Kreacher.” 

“If Miss Lovegood will just take Kreacher’s hand.” He offered his hand up to her. Luna kissed Hermione’s cheek one last time before releasing her hands and gripping tightly to Kreacher’s outstretched one. 

“Good night, Hermione. I’ll see you back at school?” Her grey eyes were sad-looking. 

“Of course. It’s only a few more days. Be safe.” Hermione was turning more circles in the snow with her arms held out. “Good night, Luna!” 

The sound of house-elf apparition stopped her turning, and she went back into the warmth of the kitchen. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Everyone returned to their regular lives after the school term resumed. Coming out to Neville was surprisingly easy; he was shocked at first, and then very accepting of the relationship. The friendship between the four members of their school group grew deeper, as did the closeness of Hermione and Luna. 

The next couple of months went by quickly. Valentine’s Day had come and gone, neither girl much into the commercial holiday, but the day did see one major revelation: Neville and Ginny had started dating. They seemed to balance each other out well, his steadfast nature playing nicely with her impetuousness. Everyone had assumed that when Ginny revealed a relationship, it would be with Harry, but she denied it, saying that after all the time he spent pushing her away for her safety, treating her like a big brother would, she’d started feeling like his sister. 

By the end of April, they were all on edge, none more than Hermione, who was firmly in exam-revision mode. She was finding less and less time to spend with Luna, and it was straining their relationship. 

The last Saturday of the month, Hermione showed up for her meeting with Minerva agitated after an argument with Luna. Luna had wanted her to skip her weekly meeting to spend more time with her, and it had shocked Hermione. With everything else that was going on, she thought the other witch had known just how important these meetings were. It was the one time she could truly let her worries about NEWTs go, relax, and have illuminating discussions about Transfiguration and Charms with a witch who was brilliant and knowledgeable in the two fields. 

It wasn’t that she felt like she had to dumb herself down for her friends; quite the opposite was true, in fact. Luna was astoundingly smart, especially when it came to Magical Creatures, and had an insight into the people around her that was amazing. Ginny was scary in DADA, able to fend off every duelist against whom she’d been paired, including Hermione. She had an arsenal of jinxes that would put some fully-trained Aurors to shame, which was a miracle given how varied her education in the Defense class had been. And Neville? He had seemingly endless knowledge about plants, both the magical and the mundane. Hermione could fully see him teaching Herbology for decades once Professor Sprout decided to retire. They all had their specialties, but none of them included her own. 

After being admitted to the Headmistress’ chambers by the gargoyle, Hermione found herself alone again. Knowing Minerva would be out momentarily, she collapsed into her normal chair, slouching deeply and rubbing her right hand over her face. The stress of upcoming exams, of the fight with Luna, of months and years of education quickly coming to an end, and of still not knowing what she wanted to do with her life finally caught up to her, and hot tears of frustration started silently streaming down her face. 

Minerva came into the room and was surprised to see Hermione slouched so deeply into her chair; she normally had much better posture. Then she noticed the shaking of the young woman’s chest and shoulders, though she couldn’t see the tears behind Hermione’s hand. 

Very quietly, she sat in her own chair and poured two cups of tea, fixing one for herself and one for Hermione, having long since learned how she took it. The clink of the spoon against the sides of the cups was the first sound she’d made since entering the room, and upon hearing it, Hermione shot straight up in her chair, dropping her hand, forgetting about her tear-streaked and blotchy face, horrified to have been caught in such a position by her friend and mentor. 

Minerva passed her the cup of tea, without uttering a word, then summoned a sturdy handkerchief edged with fine lace from her bedroom and handed it over as well. “Take your time, clean yourself up, and drink your tea while it’s hot. We’ll get to the conversation soon enough.” She picked up her own cup of tea and sat back in the chair to sip at it. 

Hermione set the cup of tea on the wide arm of the squashy and comfortable chair and used the handkerchief to do as she was bid. Her face straightened out, she picked up the tea and took a warm, comforting sip. As usual, Minerva had gotten her tea perfect. “I’m…” 

Minerva put up a hand. “No apologies. I told you nearly a year ago that nobody should ever have to cry alone. There’s no shame in it. Tears can be very healing.” 

“I… then, thank you, Minerva. You’re very kind.” Hermione was still feeling a little humiliated at being caught crying again, but it was quickly disappearing with every hot sip of tea. 

“Is it too soon or indeed, too intrusive to ask what had you in such a state?” Concern was plainly visible in her deep green eyes. 

“Just … everything. NEWTs, the final end of my Hogwarts career, what I’m going to do once I leave here, and an argument I had with a,” she barely remembered to replace the word girlfriend, “a friend earlier. Everything’s building up and building up, and I don’t know how to get rid of it all.” Her eyes closed again, and she took another sip of her tea. “I think most of it is not knowing what kind of work I want to do. Surely at this point, most students know who they want to be and what they want to do. That bloody counselling meeting was three years ago!” 

Minerva’s lips were trying desperately not to twitch. “Yes, well, we never did really come to a decision, did we? At least not with Dolores the great pink toad in the room.” Her lips were twitching in earnest now, quiet snickers of laughter sneaking out, and Hermione gave in, the loud laughter taking over the anger and angst she’d been feeling. 

“No, we never did.” She grinned maliciously at the thought that followed. “I wonder if she still twitches and shakes at the sound of hoof beats.” This instigated another round of roaring laughter from both witches. 

Once they both calmed from poking fun at Umbridge, Minerva posed a question gently while sipping at her tea, “So, are you still as against the Ministry as you were then?” 

“With Kingsley in charge, I’m not quite as against the place, but it still seems like not much is getting done. I do want to help people, Minerva, but I don’t want to be pigeon-holed into the same boring, repetitive task forever.” Hermione was fidgeting with the handkerchief. 

“In my seventy-three years on this earth, it has been my experience that every job is to be, as you said, ‘pigeon-holed into the same boring, repetitive task forever.’ The trick is to find the thing that you _can_ do over and over without getting bored. It may be that some department of the Ministry is in desperate need of someone with your talents and intellect. I wouldn’t automatically dismiss it, although there are other options. Have you thought about further education?” 

Hermione’s ears perked up at this. “There are options for further education?” Her fingers stopped picking at the lace. 

Minerva chuckled, “Of course. It’s nothing like the Muggle university system where you take courses that don’t apply to your chosen field, but you end up with a far more comprehensive knowledge in your Mastery field, and a good deal of knowledge in related fields, learning how you can put the different worlds together in order to create truly marvelous things. Are there any subjects here at Hogwarts to which you feel a particular affinity?” 

Hermione thought for a moment before carefully answering, “I don’t think I would want to pursue a further education in Care of Magical Creatures. Although I do care about the welfare of other intelligent races, such as the house-elves, centaurs, goblins, and werewolves, there are many other creatures out there that I have no interest in.” Minerva nodded with the assessment, and Hermione continued. “I do admit that I love Arithmancy, and am quite good at it, but it’s something I’d like to keep as a casual habit instead of as a job. I think that would suck much of the fun out of it. Ancient Runes can be useful in other fields, but I don’t think I have much interest in them beyond that. Divination is rubbish, plain and simple, and Astronomy is a little too closely related to hold much interest for me. 

“Potion-making is a brilliantly subtle science, and while I definitely enjoy brewing, I learned from seeing Professor Snape’s notes from his sixth-year textbook that all I will ever be as a brewer is one who can take a set of instructions and follow them to the letter. I would never have thought to deviate from the listed methodology like he did. I was and am too afraid of the catastrophic failures that can all too easily take place from doing things in anything other than the described steps. 

“I know that I am a competent duelist, and can and always will rise to the occasion to defend myself and my loved ones from attack, but I feel like in order to truly study the Defense against Dark Arts, you should have a comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Arts themselves, and I have no interest in that. In Neville, I have seen what it’s like to be in love with Herbology, and I have a thumb that is far from green. 

“The only two subjects that really get my brain going, and in which I feel I could truly excel as a researcher are Transfiguration and Charms. I feel like the two are quite tightly intertwined, and you can correct my suppositions if I’m wrong, but if I could pursue a Mastery in both, I feel like that would be the ideal situation. If I had to choose between the two,” she paused to frown for a moment, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip, “I honestly don’t know which one I’d pick. It would be a very difficult decision, requiring a long bout of deliberation and consultation.” She looked at Minerva’s face, trying to gauge her response, but her features were giving nothing away. “Does anyone ever pursue a double Mastery?” 

Minerva’s response was slow and measured, belying her inner excitement at Hermione’s response. “It happens from time to time, but it’s not very common. To achieve even one Mastery is difficult and expensive, and most people simply don’t possess the ability to achieve that level of education. If any of my recent students could do it, however, I believe it could be you.” The pride she felt for her prize student couldn’t be hidden behind her stoicism at the last statement. 

Hermione was greatly pleased to see the pride on her mentor’s face, but as her words ran back through Hermione’s mind, she became fixated on one word in particular. “How expensive is it to pursue a Mastery?” 

“That’s a complicated question. It depends on who your Master or Mistress is, the field, and on your OWL and NEWT scores in the desired course. I believe the current flat rate for either Transfiguration or Charms is one thousand galleons per year, but with your scores, talent, and your name, it could get very low indeed, depending on who you choose to train under.” 

Hermione frowned at the mention of using her name to reduce the cost of apprenticeship. Sensing the source of her discomfort, Minerva continued, “I know you’d like to get by on your name strictly for your academic prowess, but my dear girl, your name is already quite-well known for other reasons, and you won’t be able to avoid that recognition. You might as well use it to your benefit.” 

Hermione sighed. “I guess you’re right. A thousand galleons though.” She exhaled, her breath leaving her lungs in a loud whoosh. “That’s a lot of money, and I’m assuming that’s per course, so if I did go for both, it would be two thousand galleons. Per year. Might as well be a million.” She slouched back into her chair, the rush she’d felt at hearing about the opportunities vanishing without a trace, visibly deflating her. 

Watching the emotions play out on Hermione’s face, Minerva was hit with a memory. 

_“My investments are growing exponentially, and my vault is quite healthy. You are listed on my account as having access, and here’s your key. Keep it safe, Min. I trust you not to rob me blind on a whim, and I fully expect that you’ll never use the access I’ve granted you. However, if the occasion arises, feel free to take however much is necessary. Maybe one of these years, you’ll have a student in great need of money for an apprenticeship. You’ll know when the time comes.”_

_Minerva’s fingers gripped the small key, and Morgan’s hand reached over to tilt her head up, forcing her lover to look into her eyes. “And if the time ever comes that you truly think I am dead or gone, know that the vault’s entire contents are for you. You are the other half of my heart, Min, and no matter what else you may come to believe about me while I am away, it beats and bleeds only for you.”_

_A tear fell slowly down the turn of Minerva’s nose as she kissed Morgan lightly on the cheek before moving to hover her lips over Morgan’s, answering the only way she knew how, “Tá mo chroí freisin istigh ionat.” It came out a whisper followed by the crashing together of their lips in a passionate kiss._  

Blushing lightly at what had come after the kiss, she was unaware that her stoic mask had fallen while she was lost in the memory, and Hermione had been fascinated with how soft and tender Minerva’s face had grown. The color appearing on the high cheekbones only added to the fascination, and Hermione’s eyes were drawn down Minerva’s form, noticing for the first time tonight that Minerva was again out of her heavy robes. She was in another Oxford shirt, this time in a deep red, and her trousers were a dark brown. The clothes suited her well, Hermione thought. 

Minerva was still distracted, toying with ring on her right hand, and something she’d said earlier popped back into Hermione’s head. _Seventy-three years._ She couldn’t be that old, could she? Her hair had no hint of grey, still as black as the darkest ink she used for writing. There were a few wrinkles around her eyes and lips, but certainly not what you would expect from someone in their seventies. In her normal robes, it was hard to make out, but in her relaxed clothes, Hermione could tell that she was still quite physically fit; soft where it counted, but with hard muscles in her arms and legs. 

She was reminded of the morning after the battle last May when she’d clung to Minerva in that desperate hug, and she remembered how slim and firm her waist had been. She might be in her early seventies, chronologically speaking, but if she passed a Muggle woman on the street who looked like Minerva, Hermione would have guessed she was perhaps in her forties. 

Thinking about that hug made her think about the urge she’d felt to kiss Minerva, and a blush rose to her cheeks, matching the one the older witch still bore at the memories of Morgan she was reliving. Minerva lifted her cup and took a sip of tea, and Hermione, stuck in that train of thought, watched as her lips captured the rim of the cup, wondering what it would be like if those same lips were to capture her own and coax them open. 

Hermione was blushing furiously at this point, and made herself think of anything but Minerva kissing her. _Come on, Granger! Pull it together! This is inappropriate, and what’s more, it’s total fantasy! Minerva’s certainly not interested in girls or anything like that, especially with you. Now calm down and breathe and get over it. Now!_  

Straightening out her mind, she cleared her throat softly, and the noise brought Minerva out of her memory and back to the present. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hermione. I seem to have disappeared for a moment there. It’s one of the drawbacks of being as old as I am.” She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. _You’ll know when the time comes._ Minerva thought the time had, indeed, finally come. “We were discussing the Mastery process, weren’t we, and your belief that you can’t afford it?” 

The last vestiges of kissing-thoughts fled. “Yeah,” she replied curtly. 

“What if I were to say that it wouldn’t be a problem?” 

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she found herself incapable of speech. 

“I have a friend who left me with access to her sizable vault at Gringotts, and she told me once that if I ever had a student in dire need of an apprenticeship but found themselves unable to pay for it, I should feel free to take care of things with her money. I’m even in touch with several Masters of both fields, and I’m sure any of them would be honored to take you on after your NEWT scores come back. Indeed, I rather think a few of them would take you even without NEWTs.” 

Hermione sputtered out, “But Minerva, I couldn’t… There’s no way I could … It’s quite … Oh, Merlin.” She shut her mouth quickly lest she started gaping like a fish. 

Minerva’s laughter rang through the room, “It’s quite alright, Hermione. I can attest that your apprenticeships won’t make the slightest dent in the contents of her vault if it’s anything like she described, and that was twenty years ago. I think I’m making the right decision here, and I hope you’ll accept the offer.” 

Hermione finally regained her ability to speak coherently. “Only if you promise to allow me to pay it back.” 

“I don’t think that’s strictly necessary, but if you feel so strongly about it, I’ll agree. We’ll work out a repayment schedule some time after it’s all over with. Is that agreeable to you?” Minerva was amused, and for once, it showed. She hadn’t bothered to put her stoic mask back on after getting lost in her memory. 

“Yes, that’s fine with me. Thank you so much, Minerva. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here. Our meetings keep me going through the hard parts of my week, and now you’re making my future possible. I don’t know what to say other than thanks, both to you and to your generous friend.” Hermione was completely in awe of the woman sitting across from her. In that moment, she became a goddess in Hermione’s mind. 

Minerva had always embodied a certain amount of “this is who I should strive to be like” for Hermione, and just then, she became an untouchable, unflappable, perfect example of who Hermione wanted to be when she reached that age. The only flaw Hermione could see in her was the fact that, according to every source she had, Minerva had never had a great love, and Hermione was determined to have that as well if she lived as long as Minerva. 

They parted that night, Hermione with a list of Transfiguration and Charms Masters to contact about her apprenticeship, and Minerva with a head full of memories trying to burst forth. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if it snowed in London on New Year's Eve 1998. All the sources I can find say probably not, but I liked the idea of it snowing for the scene, so I took creative liberties. My apologies. I try to be as accurate with these things as I can, but sometime the almighty Google fails me. And I'm certain that the fireworks show isn't visible from all parts of London, but I've taken liberties with that, too. Didn't it make a lovely scene?
> 
> * 30 GBP for the Whiskey, 20 for the Vodka, which is 10 Galleons. I assumed a price of about 6 Sickles for each Butterbeer, which would have made the total 17 Galleons, 8 Sickles. Tom cheated her by adding in a sizeable tip, which she paid without question.
> 
> Saviari Interruptus - Rough Latin for an Interrupted Erotic Kiss. My own uneducated play on Coitus Interruptus, to which they had not gotten. Terribly sorry if it's conjugated incorrectly or whatever. I don't speak Latin. At all. Sometimes, as with the weather thing, my Google-fu fails me.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Alright, to help explain my thoughts on the aging process of Witches and Wizards, I’m dragging out a little algebra. Don’t worry, it’s easy enough to grasp. I did get a PM or two on FFN asking how a 73-year old Witch could appear to be in her 40s, though, so here’s the formula I use to figure physical age versus chronological age.
> 
> x – 17 = (y – 17) / 2  
> Where y = Chronological Age and x = Physical Age.  
> 
> 
> If given y, you should be able to get x (or actually, vice-versa). The theory behind it is this: Witches and Wizards are rarer in the world than Muggles. Therefore, they’re given longer lifespans. This is most easily seen in Albus Dumbledore, who was roughly 150 years old when he died. He didn’t really look 150, though, did he? He did look extremely old, but perhaps no more than a Muggle in his 80s. So let’s plug 150 into our formula for y, and we get that x is 83.5, which means that he appears to be around 83 or 84, which seems reasonable given the way he looks.
> 
> How did I come up with this formula? It’s pretty simple. Wizards develop normally at first, until the age that the average teenager stops growing and physically developing: 17. For seventeen years, they age as we Muggles do. After that, they age at half-rate, so one year of development per two years of life. So then you take Chronological age, subtract the 17 years they aged normally, divide by two, then add the 17 years back in, and you get their Physical age. So, given that Minerva is 73 in the early part of 1999 (she hasn’t had her birthday yet), we take 73, subtract 17 (56), divide by 2 (28), then add those 17 years back in, and you get 45 for her Physical Age. (The formula does the same thing if you work it out, but maybe just doing it this way is easier for you. Algebraic formulae have tripped up some of the smartest people I know.)
> 
> This method may not work for anyone else or their stories. Maybe in some stories, you need Witches and Wizards to age the same as Muggles, and that’s great! However, in SWTT, as well as in any of my MM/HG stories (and let’s be fair, probably in any of my future stories, no matter the pairing), this will be the way things are, because I’ve sort of adopted it as headcanon. (If I’ve inadvertently taken this from one of your stories, please let me know and I will duly credit you. I’m fairly certain I haven’t done so, but I’ve read so much fanfic that it’s hard to know sometimes.)
> 
> Of course, due to circumstances in each individual life, as with us Muggles, some people age faster or slower anyway, but in general, it’s x – 17 = (y – 17) / 2. 
> 
> And now, back to our story. I’ve used enough words on this. :)
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione woke the next morning refreshed and ready to take on the world. She wrote letters to each of the names on Minerva’s list, each letter similar to the first, changing only the subject involved from Transfiguration to Charms. 

_Master Piliwickle,_

_My name is Hermione Granger, and I was given your name by Hogwarts’ Headmistress Minerva McGonagall as someone who might be interested in allowing me to become your Apprentice in Transfiguration this coming autumn. I am scheduled to take my NEWTs in June, and achieved eleven OWLs, including an Outstanding in Transfiguration. I fully expect to receive the same mark on my Transfiguration NEWT, as does Headmistress McGonagall._

_If the prospect of taking me on as your Apprentice is acceptable, I would like to receive from you a schedule of your standard course, along with an estimate of the cost for which I would be responsible, so that I can forward that to my financial Benefactress._

_Thank you for your consideration,_

_Hermione Granger,_  
 _Order of Merlin, First Class,_  
 _Student, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Then she wrote a seventh letter, this time to Harry, asking if he would be okay putting her up for a while longer after school let out. She had a lot to take care of over the summer, and trying to find a flat of her own would only take up time she didn’t think she would have. She was sure he wouldn’t mind, but she didn’t want to just assume and have things end up awkward. 

The seven letters sent via owl post, she was left to contemplate the other stresses in her life. NEWTs were coming up, and while that was certainly a big concern, she knew that even if she stopped revising and studying right then, she would get the marks she wanted. She could have sat the exams on Monday and passed with flying colors. She was always going to worry about them until they were over and the results handed back, but she was confident enough to know that she would get out of them what she needed. 

She was in the process of figuring out what she wanted to do with her life, and had begun the process of getting it started with the letters. The only major stress she had left on her list was Luna. 

She sighed, sinking into her window seat to gaze out over the Forbidden Forest. She remembered her words to Harry in December. _It’s really good, Harry. Easy._ But it wasn’t so easy anymore. The times they were alone together, the physical part was still good, but there was something missing. There had been a calmness to their relationship at first, an ability to sit quietly in a room and study or read without it being awkward, without an incessant need to touch and be touched. Over the last few months, Hermione had definitely awakened as a sexual being, and it felt great to be intimately close with Luna, to sit and hold her hand, to kiss her whenever the mood struck, to sink her tongue or fingers into deep warm places. But there was more to life than sex, and more and more, it seemed like that’s all Luna wanted. 

All the physical intimacy in the world couldn’t compare to the soft silences they had shared at first, to quiet nights in front of the fire, reading or studying. 

That train of thought led Hermione to start contemplating how she truly felt about Luna. Did she love her, or did she only like her? She was attracted to her, certainly, but attraction and sexual desire didn’t equal love. She brought her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her cheek on her knee, still looking out the window. If this was a case of only attraction and desire, was it worth keeping the relationship going if it was only going to continue to cause stress and unrest in her life? She didn’t want to lose her friend, but she wanted the ease and comfort that they shared before to return. She wanted her friend back instead of her lover. 

A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye down to soak into the denim of her jeans. Her mind had made itself up, and she knew she was going to hurt Luna with her decision, but she didn’t love her, and to keep stringing her along would be cruel, and difficult on both of them. The tear was quickly followed by more, and she sat in her window seat for most of an hour, softly crying over the coming conversation. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione finally left her window seat and went to take a long shower. The hot water streaming over her body washed away the tears, and the water pressure gently pounded against her back, trying to massage her tensions away. She spent much of the shower thinking about all the horrible ways the conversation with Luna could go, and despite the hard work of the shower jets, she left the shower clean, but still filled with tension. 

After dinner in the Great Hall, Hermione asked Luna to come up to her room. 

Once inside, Hermione sat on one end of the settee and Luna sat on the other, the two girls turning to face each other. She started to explain, but before she could get a word out, Luna’s finger pressed against her lips, silencing her words. 

“I think I know why we’re here. I guess I’ve seen this coming for a while.” She dropped her hand back to her lap and lowered her head. 

“I’m so sorry, Luna. I don’t really know what to say.” Hermione lowered her head as well, and both girls sat staring at their hands, fidgeting nervously. “I don’t want to lose the friendship we had, but I don’t love you that way, and it would be unfair to you to keep going the way we have been when I know that.” 

Luna smiled sadly, “I knew you were never meant to be mine. I knew it the first time you kissed me. I’ve known it the entire time we’ve been together, but I wanted it so badly that I ignored myself for once.” She inhaled shakily before continuing, “I told you, actually, the first time we kissed, that I felt like I was more of an experiment while you were coming to terms with possibly being gay, and I still feel like that was true, to an extent. You needed to know what it was like to be with a girl, and I was around and fit the bill.” 

Hermione was gaping at Luna, unwilling to accept what she was saying. 

Luna’s hand reached up to cup Hermione’s cheek, cutting off the gaping look. “Don’t take it the wrong way, darling, I don’t feel as though I was used in any way, and I know you don’t feel like you used me. That’s not how it was. But we were never meant to be, and I’m at peace with that now.” 

Hermione stood and began pacing, her hands tightly grasping at her elbows behind her back. “You _knew_ this was going to happen? You _knew_ we weren’t meant to be? You’re at _peace_? What does that even mean, Luna? I wanted to be with you because I wanted to be with _you_! It wasn’t because I just needed to be with any girl and you were here! That’s not who I am!” By the end, she was screeching. 

She paced back and forth in furious silence for a minute before speaking again, her voice cold fury, “So you don’t think I used you. Great. But since you knew from the very beginning that it wouldn’t last, and that it was only ever meant to be short-term, I kind of feel like you used me. You wanted something from me that you _knew_ you’d never have, so, what, you just decided to _settle_ for a _piece_ of me? I can’t talk to you right now. Please leave.” 

She stalked through her bedroom door and slammed it behind her before beginning to pace in front of the fireplace in there. She couldn’t sit still, but the monotony of pacing was starting to get to her. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of her sleeping shorts and transfigured them into something a bit thicker, skin-tight, and long enough to just reach her knees. The thin tee-shirt had its sleeves removed, turning it into a tight racer-back tank top. She also transfigured her sensible but pretty bra into a tightly fitted sports bra with the same back as the tank to hide the straps. She quickly changed into these makeshift workout clothes, slipped into her trainers, and threw a long cloak over it all to cover herself until she got outside. 

She was glad to see Luna had left when she went through the sitting room, and she made her way down to the Quidditch pitch, which she was glad to see unoccupied. Throwing her cloak to the ground, she magicked her hair up into a tight bun, stuck her wand into it for safe-keeping, and began to run laps around the pitch. 

She started at a fast walk and slowly increased the pace until she was running at a comfortable speed, keeping that pace going for the endurance. She had a lot of running to do if she was going to work all this out. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hours later, she was lying on her back on the edge of the pitch, breaths quick and shallow from exertion. She had begun to reach her limits and started the slow-down, and once she’d reached walking speed, she’d collapsed to the ground, trying to regain her breath. The grass was cool on her heated body, and the stars were out, shining brightly in the dark sky. 

Hermione had tried very hard during her run not to think about the situation with Luna, but thoughts had crept in anyway. She was still angry about the prospect of having been used, but she knew the anger would fade in time. Of all the ways she’d dreamt the conversation could go, that was perhaps the one she didn’t think of during her shower. She chuckled breathlessly at the thought. The blonde witch was still surprising Hermione at every turn. 

She stood, groaning a bit at the soreness already creeping in. She thought she would probably feel the effects of the exercise the next day, but it had been completely worth the aftermath. She felt lighter and better than she had in weeks. Searching the dark ground for her cloak, she gave up and summoned it with her wand. She was still too hot to want it on, and she doubted anyone was still awake to see her in her running attire, so she draped it over her left arm, keeping her wand in her dominant right hand. 

She walked slowly to the front doors of the castle, and was surprised when they didn’t open as she approached as they normally did. Moving her wand to her left hand, she placed the right against one of the massive oak doors, pressing lightly and then with more strength, stamping her foot crossly when it still refused to open. She couldn’t think of any spells that would open the doors magically without blasting them open, which was an unacceptable situation. 

She plopped down onto the stone steps leading up to the doors, trying to figure a way to get in. Casting a quick _Tempus_ , she was surprised to see that it was after midnight; she had run a lot longer than she thought. _No wonder the doors are locked for the night._ She was thinking she might walk down to Hagrid’s hut and wake him to see about getting in, but didn’t want to disturb him. 

She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, inwardly debating on going to Hagrid, when she heard one of the doors creak open behind her. She jumped to her feet, wand in hand, the cloak still draped over her left arm, and spun around to face the intruder. 

“I should have known it was you, Miss Granger,” breathed the sleep-addled voice of the school’s Headmistress. “Come along then, and we won’t discuss punishment, as I was the only one awakened.” 

She could see Minerva standing in the doorway and relaxed her stance. The older witch was in her traditional outer robes, but her hair was down from its bun, and the long braid had taken its place again, snaking down across one shoulder to her waist. The braid was slightly more disheveled tonight than it had been the last time Hermione had seen it, and she felt bad for having woken her mentor from her sleep. 

Taking her cue from Minerva on formality, she apologized as she stepped toward the doors. “I’m so sorry, Professor. I was out running on the Quidditch pitch and lost track of time.” 

Hermione stepped into the low lights of the Entrance Hall, where Minerva could finally fully see what she was wearing, and she gasped, now fully awake. The shorts and tank top were soaked with sweat, and plastered to her body, revealing every curve, all of which were flushed from the night’s activities. “Running, you said?” Minerva squeaked out. 

“Mm, yes. I was working out the last of my frustrations from last night.” Hermione shifted her cloak over to her right arm, reaching up with the left to try and smooth some of the flyaway hairs back into place. “I sent out letters to the six Masters you recommended today. Do you think I should hear back from them before my NEWT scores are in, or after?” Her hair sorted, she moved the cloak back over to her left arm. 

She had no idea the effect she was having on the older witch. Minerva had nearly choked when she’d raised her arm. She barely pulled herself together long enough to spell the door closed and locked, and cleared her throat loudly. “I think you’re as likely to hear from them before as after. Your name is worth quite a lot, but don’t worry if you don’t get an acceptance from all of them. They may already have an apprentice I don’t know about, or they might not have time to take anyone on right now. If you don’t get an offer you like, we can – ah – find other options.” She stuttered when Hermione bent down to pick up the cloak that had fallen off her arm during their conversation. “You might want to slip that cloak on, Miss Granger. It’s unlikely that we’ll encounter anyone else on the way up, but it’s best to be prepared.” 

Hermione sighed. “Of course, Professor. I thought I might be too hot, but I can cast a cooling charm under it to help.” She swung it around her shoulders and buttoned it up, casting the charm once everything was secured. 

Minerva took a deep breath. _It’ll keep my mind where it belongs, too. Merlin, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t had a reaction like that to anyone since Morgan. It must be the memories I stirred up last night._ “I’ll walk you up in case you encounter someone else who won’t be so lenient with you for being out so far past curfew.” She gestured toward the staircases, and the two witches set out at an unhurried pace. 

“So, do you often run to release your frustrations? I can’t say I’ve ever seen you like this before.” Minerva’s cat nature was taking over, and she was curious. 

“No, not very often at all, actually. I just,” she paused lightly before deciding to move on with her story, “I think I mentioned last night I’d had an argument with a friend. We resolved the argument earlier, but I was left with some leftover anger, and pacing in front of my fire just wasn’t doing the job.” She shrugged. “I needed more.” 

They climbed in silence for a moment. “How did you know to open the door? I was debating on whether to go wake Hagrid to get in when the door opened on its own. I was quite surprised.” 

“After the doors are locked for the night, a teacher may get in by touching the door, but if a student tries the same, the Headmaster or Headmistress is notified by the school. If anyone else touched the door in an effort to get in, or if any kind of jinx or hex is cast at the door, the school treats them as an intruder and knocks them backward before alerting not only myself, but also every teacher currently in residence.” Her lips twitched slightly. “Be glad you didn’t attempt to get in magically. The school tossing you out on your arse isn’t very pleasant.” 

Hermione laughed, both at the comment and at the mild language used. “That isn’t something they put in Hogwarts, a History.” 

“No, it’s not something we advertise, especially as the same trick works on the outer gates. Thank goodness Severus was really on our side. Wards or no, he could have let Voldemort in at any time.” Minerva yawned quietly as they reached the seventh floor landing. “I think you may be trusted with the information though. Just don’t go turning into a Dark Lady so you can use it against us.” She winked slyly, and Hermione laughed. 

“Not much chance of that. The Dark holds no appeal for me.” 

“The Dark can be tempting. There is much good that can be done with some spells labeled as “Dark”, but most people twist them for their darker purposes. You can’t just write off the Dark as bad and say you’ll never use it, because we all make those choices in life, but you have to make a conscious decision to never use the dark spells you learn – and you will learn some, Hermione, don’t think you won’t – you just have to use them for the right reasons and not the bad ones.” 

They reached Hermione’s portrait-door and stopped. “I was joking with the Dark Lady remark, but it’s a choice we all make at some point, whether to be a force for good or bad. You may think you’ve made your ultimate choice, but until your final day is spent, you will make that choice again and again, over and over, and every time it gets more difficult to choose the harder path of Light rather than the easier path of the Dark.” Minerva reached out to grab Hermione’s wrist tightly. “Keep making the choice for Light, Hermione. I, for one, would never want to fight against you.” 

Hermione was finding it hard to speak, but managed to croak out, “I’ll do my best, Minerva. I promise.” 

“Good girl.” She released Hermione’s wrist. “Now get in there and get some sleep. You have classes in a few hours.” 

“Yes, Professor.” She turned toward her door, before adding without looking back, “And Minerva? You do the same. I have this feeling that if you ever chose the Dark, I’d go with you. That scares me.” She opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night.” 

Minerva’s throat had closed up, and as Hermione was still facing away from her, she reached out to squeeze her shoulder through the thick cloak before withdrawing and walking toward her own rooms. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione took a quick shower and then settled in for a fitful night’s sleep. Her mind kept poring over the conversation with Minerva, and she was terrified. She meant what she’d said at the last. Minerva had become such a strong force in her life for what was right and good and for who she should strive to emulate. If the Scottish witch ever did turn to the Dark, Hermione honestly believed that her reasons would be true and valid, and she would follow her without question. 

She didn’t know if she could say the same for even Harry. It was true that they’d faced much darkness in their year on the hunt for Horcruxes, and that damn locket had made her feel a thirst for forbidden knowledge, and she’d known Harry and especially Ron felt its draw as well, but if she’d thought Harry was truly turning to the Dark, she would have taken the Horcrux and run far away from him; if the Ministry and Voldemort’s lackeys couldn’t find her, certainly Harry-bloody-Potter wouldn’t have been able to. 

She had even begun to question Dumbledore’s methods since his death, suspecting that the Dark had touched him deeply at some point. His notions of what he was doing for “the greater good” were suspect to her, and her fears had been realized when they’d found out Harry had to die. That he’d come back afterward was completely inconsequential. There was no way Dumbledore could have known that they would figure out all his cryptic clues in time. Harry could have ended up dying and not coming back, and then they would have all died rather than falling to their knees before the snake-faced bastard. 

That little voice in the back of her head began whispering that if she’d seen Minerva fall to her knees and kiss the hem of his robes, she might’ve done the same, even before they’d forged this tentative friendship over the year since the Battle. She might have capitulated and tried to live under his tyranny… if she’d seen Minerva do it first. Such was the depth of her influence over Hermione. 

It frightened her to a depth she hadn’t known existed. Why was Minerva McGonagall so important to her? She didn’t know; couldn’t put a finger on the reason. 

She tossed and turned, unable to escape the thoughts all night. Finally, at half-six, she gave up and got out of the bed to face her day, tired and restless. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The worries finally subsided, taken over by her anxiety over the upcoming NEWTs. She saw her friends very little, in full-stop revision mode. Harry had replied to her letter, saying that she could stay with him forever if she wanted, and not to worry about it. Kreacher needed more people to care for anyway. She had dismissed the letter and its contents, her studies taking over even her concerns about the future. It was all in the future, after all, and the NEWTs were an immediate concern. 

All the Masters and Mistresses she’d written replied in the affirmative, willing to take her on pending her NEWT scores, but for one of the Charms Masters, who was currently apprenticing two others and just didn’t have the time to spare for her. 

Again, she let the offers roll off her back, stashing the letters away for later examination, after making sure none of them required an immediate response. 

It was only after the last exam was over that she took half a moment to breathe. Her hair had gone as wild as it had been in her first year from so many nights spent poring over textbooks and notes, and so few spent in her bed. Even those few nights, she was too exhausted to worry about caring for her hair the way she’d become accustomed. She’d forgotten so many meals that she’d lost several pounds, and her skin was pale from lack of proper nutrition and sunlight. 

The first thing she did after that last exam was take a long soak in her private bathtub, carefully washing her hair and casting several detangling charms at it; it took so many because just one didn’t get rid of them all, nor did the second or the third. It took five times before it was manageable enough to get a comb through to finish the job. Finally, her hair was back to something she could at least braid. Its texture hadn’t quite come back to the silky softness it had reached before, but as with her skin and the weight, a few good nutrition potions from Madam Pomfrey, and a week of sleeping and eating well and on a regular basis took care of that. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

It was two weeks after NEWTs were finished, and Hermione was starting to fret over her results. She was sitting in the Great Hall, picking through her breakfast when a rush of owls started dropping scrolls for other seventh year NEWT students. It appeared that everyone got theirs except Hermione. Her face fell, and fear began to take over. She’d received Trolls for each exam. _Oh god, oh god, oh god. I’ve failed everything. Minerva’s going to come get me and tell me I’ve failed everything and I’ll be a waste of a witch and they’re going to snap my wand because I’m too stupid to even stay in the Wizarding world as a Squib. Oh god, oh god, oh god._ She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up fearfully, gulping when she saw that it was, indeed, Minerva. 

“So it’s true. I’ve failed everything.” She started sobbing, burying her head in her hands. 

“Of course you haven’t. Now calm down, stand up, and come with me.” Minerva barked out in her best Headmistress McGonagall voice. Hermione didn’t move, her sobs growing louder. “ _Now_ , Miss Granger!” She snapped. 

Hermione’s tears stopped abruptly and she stared up at Minerva for a moment. A sharply raised eyebrow later, Hermione was standing in front of her, waiting for further instruction. “Come with me,” she sighed, and began to walk toward the room behind the High Table. Hermione dumbly followed behind her, still living her worst nightmare in her mind. _I’m too stupid. I’ve received all Trolls. They’re going to snap my wand and send me back to the Muggle world. I’ve failed everything. I’ve failed at being a Witch. I don’t belong here and I never will._  

Once inside the small room, Minerva closed the door, and had to lead Hermione to a chair and force her to sit by pressing on her shoulders and snapping out the word “Sit!” 

“Now we’re alone. Hermione, I need you to snap out of this and listen to me.” Minerva sat in a chair across from Hermione, but the younger witch was still trapped in her own doubts and fears. She really didn’t want to do it, but circumstances being what they were, she had no choice. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out once, twice, three times, then raised her hand and slapped Hermione across the cheek – briskly, but not too hard, and yelled “Hermione. PAY ATTENTION!” 

The combination of the slap and the yell was enough to finally break Hermione out of her own mind, and she brought her hand up to her reddening cheek. “Minerva? What’s …? Why did you slap me?” 

Minerva almost rolled her eyes, but was able to hold her impulse back. “You weren’t listening to me. You did not fail your exams. Now, are you quite present?” 

“I… yes. I’m sorry. Have I put on a big spectacle?” Hot tears were forming in her eyes at the thought of humiliation. 

“No, not at all. I doubt anyone else noticed at all.” 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, closing her eyes to rid them of tears before they started falling. “Why didn’t I get my results like everyone else, Minerva? Were they truly that bad?” She opened her eyes and searched Minerva’s for hints. She saw them soften along with Minerva’s face. 

“No, child. They were sent to me because they were so good.” Minerva saw relief flood through her prize pupil. “For the first time – not just in a long time, Hermione, but for the first time ever – they had to have another set of examiners go over your results because they were absolutely perfect. Every exam.” She pulled out a thick scroll, tied with a heavy blue ribbon, and handed it over to Hermione, who had seemingly gone dumb again. 

She asked, “Are you still with me?” 

“I … perfect? Perfect? I got perfect scores.” 

Minerva chuckled lightly, “Yes, Hermione. Perfect. Even on the Muggle Studies exam, even though you haven’t taken the class since your third year. Eleven absolutely perfect NEWTs.” She paused for a moment, tears coming to her eyes. “I am so proud of you, Hermione. Even Albus and I didn’t get perfect scores, and neither of us sat for eleven of them. Nobody – not a single Pureblood, Half-Blood, or Muggle-born has ever received perfect marks on every NEWT they sat for. Nobody. Except you. 

“The reason your scroll is so thick is because it’s filled with job offers from virtually every department in the Ministry, and several from private organizations outside of the Ministry. There isn’t a job out there you can’t do, if that’s what you want.” 

Hermione laughed through her joyful tears, “Except those to do with Divination. Or Professional Quidditch Player.” 

Minerva joined in her laughter, “Oh, I think you’d be surprised at how many people would offer you a job even in those fields if that’s what you wanted to do. Are you still decided on pursuing the Masteries?” 

Hermione nodded furiously. “Oh, yes. Now more than ever. Will you help me go through the offers and pick the best one? I admit I haven’t given them the proper consideration with all my worrying about exams, but now that weight’s finally, firmly off my back for good, it’s time to start thinking about it.” 

“Of course I will. We have a meeting scheduled for tonight. Bring the letters then and we’ll get it all sorted. But there’s something they’ve asked me to do first, if you’re agreeable.” 

Hermione looked immediately suspicious, and Minerva laughed. “It’s nothing so bad as that look would have you believe. I just need to take you out to the podium and announce your scores to the student body before breakfast is over.” 

Hermione looked horrified, knowing that her face must look frightful after her emotional outbursts. “I can’t… I look… I … can’t.” Sentences were beyond her grasp. 

“You got perfect scores on eleven NEWTs, and you’re worried about how you look.” Minerva laughed at her again. “At least that’s something we can take care of with ease. Come here.” She pulled Hermione to her feet and took a good look at her face. “The only thing we need worry about is the slap mark on your cheek. The rest of you looks beautiful as always.” Hermione blushed lightly at the compliment, but then hissed in pain when Minerva cast _Episkey_ to repair the swollen and bruising cheek. “I’m so sorry. I must have hit you a little harder than I thought I did.” She put her hands on Hermione’s chin and moved her face back and forth to inspect her work. “There. Now you’re quite back to normal. Ready?” 

“Not really,” Hermione grumbled. 

“Ah well, too bad, because breakfast is drawing to a close and we have no more time. Come along.” Minerva began to briskly walk toward the door, and Hermione reluctantly followed. Minerva walked up behind the great podium, gesturing for Hermione to stand to her right. 

“ _Sonorus_ ,” she whispered. Her next words were magically amplified so that every student could hear. “Good morning, everyone. I know all our seventh-year students are excited to receive their NEWT scores,” she saw a couple faces downturned over their opened parchments, “or maybe some of you are not so excited.” The students laughed gaily as she delivered the line without a hint of a smile, looking down over her glasses at the room’s occupants. 

“However, I am pleased to have been tasked with delivering some wonderful news to you this morning, so bear with me for one moment, and you can all get back to what you were doing.” She paused again, briefly, to take in a breath and glance over to make sure Hermione was doing well being up in front of everyone. “As happy or sad as you all may be over your scores, one student has a particular reason to celebrate this morning. Miss Hermione Granger, one of our returning students known to you all, has received eleven perfect NEWTs; the highest scores ever recorded in the history of Hogwarts. Please join me in a round of applause to congratulate her on this astonishing accomplishment!” 

The room swelled with applause, every teacher and student standing and clapping furiously, some choosing to whistle loudly in with the applause. She heard Neville’s voice cheering, calling out her name gleefully, and from the end of the Ravenclaw table, she saw Luna clapping harder than anyone, happy tears streaming down her face. 

One by one, the Professors rounded the table and formed a line along the front of it toward Hermione. Professor Flitwick, the diminutive Charms teacher, reached her first, and touched her arm to gain her attention. She spun around, and he gave her an enthusiastic handshake, gripping her right hand with both of his, saying “Congratulations, Miss Granger. I knew you could do it!” before moving on. Next was Professor Sprout, the earthy Herbology teacher, who gave her similar sentiments with a warm hug. Then came Alice Oaks, the new Muggle Studies teacher who had never had the pleasure of teaching Hermione, and thus didn’t know her well. She gave a quick, but warm handshake and a whispered “Congratulations,” and moved on. Professor Bathsheba Babbling, who taught Ancient Runes, gave yet another handshake, along with the cryptic “Raidho”, which was a rune used in her class. Hermione couldn’t remember the deeper meanings, but thought it might have something to do with the journey of life, which was appropriate, she supposed. 

Professor Matthew Sutton, her newest Transfiguration teacher, gave her a brisk handshake with a curt “Congratulations.” Professor Aurora Sinistra, the new head of Slytherin House, and Hermione’s Astronomy teacher, was next with a brief handshake and no words. Slytherin and Gryffindor would always be at odds, it seemed. 

Next, she received a crushing hug from Hagrid, who was crying loudly into his large yellow handkerchief and couldn’t speak. Septima Vector, who taught Arithmancy, one of Hermione’s favorite subjects, gave her a brief hug and a warm smile with her own “Congratulations, dear”, and Marcus Stroulger, the new Potions Master and former Ravenclaw, gave her a warm handshake and said that it had been a pleasure to teach her that year. 

There were two teachers left: Trelawney, and Professor Packard Piliwickle, the newest Defense teacher. He was cousin to one of the Transfiguration Masters she had written, and the new Head of Gryffindor since Minerva had been elected to the Headmistress position. Trelawney drifted past Hermione without a gesture or a word, which wasn’t very surprising as the two had never gotten along. Hermione snickered quietly as the scent of sherry and incense wafted through in her aftermath. Piliwickle, the last in line, gave her a vigorous handshake and winked, saying that his cousin was very much hoping she would accept his offer. She told him she hadn’t made her decision yet, but that his cousin’s chance was as good as the others from which she’d received responses. He looked pleased with that, and returned to his seat. 

Finally, only Minerva was left, and like the other teachers who had shaped Hermione’s academic career, she moved to give Hermione a warm hug, but winked and pointed at her throat, not saying a word while still under the microphone charm. 

The parade of teachers had taken only a couple minutes, and the students were still applauding and cheering for their classmate, and for one of the Heroines of the War. Not everyone knew her, but everyone knew who she was, and they were mostly all proud of her. She turned back to face them and cast her own _Sonorus_. “Thank you.” 

The applause started dying down so they could hear what she had to say. “Thank you all. I can’t tell you what it means to have this kind of support on such a happy day. I always hoped for these kinds of results, but never dared think I would actually get them. It’s made my seven years within these Hallowed Halls well worth it, and in the end, made the year I had to skip worth all the hardship, sacrifice, and darkness we had to endure to make it through. Harry, Ron, and I suffered a great deal to put an end to Voldemort, and it was worth it all the second his dark smudge was removed from our green Earth, but this moment makes it golden to me. 

“Under his regime, I would not have been allowed to finish my education, because my parents are Muggles, and are not part of this world. By his reckoning, that made me unworthy to learn, to be here, or even to live. And yet today, I stand here with the highest scores in history. Take that, Voldemort, and all those who willingly followed him. I hope they’re all turning over in their graves right now, because once and for all, I have proven them WRONG. It does not take Pure Magical Blood to make a Witch or Wizard worthy of our world; it only takes Magic and a willingness to learn. Thank you all, again.” _Quietus_ , she whispered, cancelling the enchantment on her voice. 

“Thank you, Miss Granger.” Minerva returned to her podium, and said to the crowd, “Now, I see that breakfast has officially concluded. Please enjoy your Saturday. Thank you.” She subtly cancelled her own voice charm and stepped down from the podium. “I wasn’t expecting you to make a speech, Hermione. It was very nice, though very brave. I admire you for having the courage to speak your heart.” 

Hermione had no words left after her speech, and could only nod in response. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wanted to get a bit more into this chapter to make up for the long notes section at the beginning, but honestly, I think I’ll leave it off here for now. It feels like a good cut-off. 
> 
> Any questions or comments can be left in a review or a PM. Thank you for reading, guys!
> 
> Oh, and on the Professors’ names: I have an entire chart drawn up outlining my post-war Hogwarts Staff. I’ve given you a mild introduction to them in the parade of teachers, but this story will likely not feature them again. Another future story just might, however. Any truly ridiculous names are drawn from online HP resources, and I couldn’t give up the ability to name one character, much less two characters, Piliwickle. I giggle every time I type it. 
> 
> Up next: More time with Minerva, something from her point-of-view, and a huge time jump. It’s time to get past the first two sentences of my outline and get into the meat of the story.
> 
> If you have a Tumblr and would like to get a brief snippet of my chapter releases as they come out, look for user ‘knickknack-haiku’. I started this with Chapter Four, and will try to remember to keep up with the practice as I get the story written.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione could hardly walk a few steps after her speech without someone stopping her to shake her hand. Some of the younger students had tearfully asked for a hug; Muggle-borns who, like her, wouldn’t have been at Hogwarts that year if not for the efforts of her and Harry in defeating Voldemort. 

Surprisingly, there was even a group of several Slytherin students who reverently shook her hand, thanking her for getting rid of the old snake and freeing their families from his service, and congratulating her on her scores. 

She finally reached the sanctuary of her rooms, and vowed not to leave them for the rest of the day unless strictly necessary, at least until time for her meeting with Minerva. 

She sat at her desk and opened the wide blue ribbon surrounding her NEWT scores, separating that sheet from the ones offering jobs. Tucking it lovingly into the top drawer, she started leafing through the job offers. _I know Minerva will use her friend’s money to pay for my Masteries, but I wouldn’t dream of asking for living expenses. And Harry would probably let me stay at the CM until we’re all old and grey, but I can’t do that to him. Staying over the summer while I get my ducks in a row is one thing, but I won’t take advantage of his generosity any longer than I must._ Her nature was to be independent, and although she liked having other people around, she craved her solitude at times. Therefore, she must get a job so she could afford to get her own flat. 

She pulled out the ones for jobs she knew she would never want to do, and sent them flying into the fire. She was left with about twenty pages, and one in particular caught her interest. 

It was from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The letter, written by the current department head, a Mr. Xerophan Catalpa, stated that he had heard from reliable sources that she might be interested in helping to make a difference in the lives of house elves and other magical creatures, and he could offer her a chance to do so. 

She thought back to her conversation with Minerva back in April, and how she’d said she didn’t want to pursue a Mastery in Care of Magical Creatures, even though she did care about how the intelligent races were treated. If Mr. Catalpa was willing to allow her to work part-time while pursuing her Masteries, she just might take him up on the offer. 

She set his letter aside, with three others that looked nearly as promising as the DRCMC’s proposal. She would respond to the offers on Monday, asking about the potential for part-time work and what the subsequent pay would be. She bound the remaining sixteen letters back with the wide ribbon in case the chosen four didn’t pan out, and placed the bundle in her second drawer. She left the four out flat, setting them under the edge of her writing case for Monday’s attention. 

There were a couple hours left until her scheduled meeting with Minerva, and with only a week left in the castle, Hermione decided to get a head-start on cleaning everything out. 

She started by vanishing the extra desk she’d made for when her friends were studying, making sure there was nothing important left inside first. The extra desk chairs were vanished next. Lastly, she untransfigured her own desk, leaving only the original knee-hole and drawers, and reducing its size back to normal. 

Searching through her bookshelves, she found the last couple library books and set them on the corner of her desk to be returned. The shelves had been mostly filled over the course of the year, and her fingers trailed fondly over the rows of book-spines, remembering weekend trips to the Hogsmeade branch of Flourish and Blotts, and receiving gifts from Harry and Neville and Luna. The most special tomes she owned, however, were the ones that Minerva had given her during the last year for their discussions, and those remained on a shelf to themselves. 

She frowned, thinking they never had discussed whether the books were being given or loaned. She would need to clarify the point at their meeting; she didn’t want Minerva to get the impression she was trying to steal her books. The mere thought was sacrilegious. 

Her stomach growled up at her, requesting sustenance. She cast the _Tempus_ charm, and was surprised to see that it was past time for Lunch. She hadn’t wanted to face the crowd again to eat, but knowing it was now too late made her hungrier. Thinking about her empty stomach, she headed down to the kitchens. To help avoid the constant handshakes and congratulations, she Disillusioned herself, feeling the cold trickle down the back of her neck. 

She walked slowly, carefully navigating the staircases, and eventually reached the ground floor. She bypassed the Great Hall and took the staircase down to the kitchens’ entrance. She didn’t see anyone around, so she quickly cancelled the Disillusionment and tickled the pear before walking into the organized chaos of the house-elves’ domain. 

A youngish elf approached her timidly, squeaking out, “Can Callie help the young miss?” 

“Hello, Callie. My name is Hermione, and I got caught up in pre-Leaving cleaning and missed lunch. I was wondering if I could get a sandwich or something simple to hold me over until dinner.” 

“Of course, Miss. We has plenty of leftovers from lunch if you wants something better than a sandwich, but if that is what Miss wants, that is what we will brings.” Callie bowed slightly. 

“I don’t wish to be a lot of trouble, but hot food does sound lovely. Just a plate of anything from the leftovers will do. Thank you, Callie.” Hermione was still uneasy about the forced servitude of the house-elves, but she was very hungry and thought she might as well make them happy by allowing them to fix her a plate. 

“Yes, Miss. If you will just sits here, Callie will bring your plate in just a moment.” She gestured to a seat at the end of what would correspond to the Ravenclaw table upstairs, and Hermione sat in it. 

Left alone in her seat, Hermione took advantage of her time to observe the way the Hogwarts Elves worked. They certainly seemed happy as they whizzed around, getting the night’s meals prepared. There were some elves already stirring big pots of soups or stews on oversized cooktops. Others were using the long tables to prep meat, fish, and vegetables for dishes which would be cooked later. Yet another section seemed to be devoted to preparing the lavish desserts the students and teachers enjoyed with each meal. There were the workers doing all the menial tasks, and each section had someone supervising, keeping them all working together flawlessly. Hermione noticed that there was one wizened little elf strolling around, checking not only on the individual cooks, but also on the section leaders. _That must be, essentially, the Head Chef of the Hogwarts Kitchens. Must be an interesting job to have._  

Callie walked back up, placing two plates, flatware, and a goblet of orange juice in front of Hermione. She took a moment to enjoy the smells before looking down at the larger of the two plates. “Oh! Callie, this is very much the meal I would have fixed for myself had I made it down in time!” She glanced over at the smaller plate, which contained a large wedge of her favorite pie. “And the dessert as well! You’ve outdone yourself, Callie. Thank you so much.” She picked up her fork and savored the first bite of the roast beef, closing her eyes as the flavors came alive in her mouth. 

Callie giggled, “Of course, Miss. Elves knows what all the students like. How does you think we fix all the right food to please so many with the same meal?” 

Hermione swallowed and replied, “I hadn’t given it much thought. I should have paid more attention, I suppose.” She took a small sip of her juice, appreciating the sting of the citrus juice instead of the standard Pumpkin juice favored by most Witches and Wizards. “I hate to take up any more of your time, Callie. Thank you very much for bringing me something to eat. What should I do with my things when I finish?” 

“Just leaves them where they are, Miss. We’ll takes care of them.” 

“Thank you again, Callie.” She paused for a moment, before asking, “Are you happy here at Hogwarts, Callie?” 

The elf seemed surprised by the question. “Yes, Miss. It’s a great honor to be a Hogwarts elf. Callie is very happy to be here. I knows not all elves is happy with how their families treats them, but don’t worry, Miss, all the elves here at Hogwarts is very happy. There’s lots of work for us to do here, even in the summer when all the students is gone, and to be needed this much is the best thing for elves. This is when we is the happiest, Miss.” 

Hermione could see that Callie was being honest. “So you don’t mind not getting paid for your work?” 

“No, Miss. What does Hogwarts elves need money for? We is provided with plenty to do, a warm place to sleeps, clean things to wear, and we eats the same things you does. We is mostly left alone to do our work, and we is not mistreated here. We is happy to cook and clean and serve, Miss, truly we is.” 

“Thank you for your honesty, Callie. I’ll let you get back to your duties now. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Hermione was moved by the vehemence in Callie’s voice. The biggest reservations she had about house-elf service had been laid to rest, but that one sentence had her worried for elves not in the service of the school. _I knows not all elves is happy with how their families treats them._ If he would have her, Hermione would be working for Mr. Catalpa beginning in the fall. All house-elves deserved the respect and treatment that Hogwarts elves received, and she could help ensure that. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon puttering around her rooms, and showed up promptly for her weekly meeting with Minerva. They started by going through the offers, and much to the would-be delight of her Defense professor, ended up deciding to go with Master Preston Piliwickle for Transfiguration, and Master Samantha O’Neill (*) for Charms. 

Piliwickle’s letter had outlined a four-year course with studies four days per week, quoting costs of 800 Galleons per year. O’Neill’s outline was the same as Piliwickle’s, but costing only 700 Galleons. 

“We had originally discussed the possibility of up to two thousand galleons, so will fifteen-hundred be acceptable, Minerva? It’s a lot of money.” Hermione was worried about the practical aspect of paying back such a large debt. 

“Don’t fret over the money. If Morgan was as well off as she intimated to me, it won’t be a problem. She had an uncanny knack for investments.” Minerva breezed through the reference to Morgan without allowing the pain to touch her. She was going to have to get used to talking about her at some point. “What you need to worry about is the scheduling. Each Master is requiring four days per week for four years, and that’s not allowing yourself time to work – assuming you’re still planning to try and work some.” 

Hermione nodded, “Yes. I was going to respond to a couple of the job offers on Monday to see what kind of part time allowances they can make. I don’t like using my name, my position as Harry’s friend, or my Order of Merlin, but if it allows me to do everything I want over the next few years, then I will.” There was a determined light in her eyes that Minerva was proud to see. 

“Well, then, I would suggest talking with Masters Piliwickle and O’Neill about a revised schedule. Perhaps you could devote Mondays and Saturdays to your work in the Ministry, Tuesdays and Thursdays for Transfiguration, and Wednesdays and Fridays to Charms, leaving you Sundays to relax and have a personal life. It will be difficult, but I suspect you’re up to the task.” Minerva looked through the course outlines sent by the two Masters, pleased with Hermione’s forethought in asking for them. 

“Cutting those two days apiece from the Apprentice work every week, it will take twice as long to complete the courses. Eight years at this pace will be hard to maintain, even with the months off in the summer. I’m assuming that your Ministry job will absorb any spare time you’re given in those months, so you still won’t get any real rest or downtime.” Both sets of eyes were searching through the stacks of parchment between them. When Hermione had arrived, Minerva had used the same charms to enlarge her desk that Hermione had used in her sitting room earlier in the year, but only increasing its width by half so they could both see and reach everything, and had made her own kneehole go through the opposite side of the desk so the younger witch could sit comfortably. 

Hermione’s eyes brightened and she smiled, her inner light bulb having lit up. “What if I didn’t take those months off in the summer? If the Masters are willing to continue teaching me through the summer break, I could reclaim loads of lost time, cutting the overall course schedule down to six years instead of eight.” 

Minerva’s eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she checked Hermione’s calculations. “You’re correct. Furthermore, if you grasp the concepts and lessons as quickly as I suspect you will, you could well be finished in five.” 

“If they’re willing to teach me over the summer.” 

“It’s worth asking.” Minerva reached into a drawer, pulled out some fresh parchment, and pushed it over to Hermione’s side of the desk. Hermione picked up the bundle, and clearing a space in front of her for writing, grabbed her quill and started writing her replies. 

Minerva leaned back in her chair and watched as Hermione’s hand moved the quill neatly and efficiently across the paper. She enjoyed the time spent with the younger witch each week, and would be sad when the year was over and their visits ceased. She blinked several times in quick succession, and her mouth dried up in shock as she realized that their final meeting was in progress; Hermione would be leaving on Friday. Their chances of meeting again were slim with the timetable they were trying to arrange. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair so tightly that the knuckles were turning white, and her heartstrings were vibrating painfully at the thought of her friend walking out of her life. It was an unacceptable situation. She’d already lost Albus, didn’t have the faintest idea where Morgan was, and while this friendship with Hermione had crept up on her quite slowly, she wasn’t willing to give it up and lose another person from her life. 

“It’s going to be strange not coming to see you every week.” Hermione’s voice was sad as she spoke up while continuing to write her letters. 

“You’re always welcome here,” Minerva managed to choke out, still trying to think of a way to keep their friendship active and alive. 

“I … it’s presumptuous of me to ask, but even with how insanely busy I see my life getting this fall, and with all your duties here, could I keep coming to visit? Obviously, I won’t be able to come every week, but maybe once a month? On a Sunday evening?” Hermione swallowed heavily, and her words were having a calming effect on Minerva. Her fingers began to loosen their grip on the wooden arms of her chair. “It’s just that I feel like we’ve become friends this year, and I don’t want to lose that.” 

“You’re already going to have so little free time. Are you sure you want to spend part of that precious time with an old woman?” Minerva’s voice was teasing, but inside, she was all tied up, hoping Hermione wouldn’t take it back. If Morgan were there, she felt certain that she would have been able to let Hermione leave without looking back, but she was desperately lonely, and she didn’t make friends easily. The idea of the woman who had become one of her closest friends going off, studying, working, and somewhere along the line, marrying Ronald Weasley, and leaving her behind was too much. 

Hermione cheekily cocked her eyes from where they had been fixated on writing her letters up to Minerva’s face, her quill finally stopping its movements. “Professor. Minerva. You’re hardly old; you can’t be more than forty-five or maybe fifty. And haven’t we become friends this year in our meetings?” 

Minerva laughed from deep within, “Of course we’re friends. I don’t give such glowing recommendations to just anyone. Thank you, by the way, for the compliment. I will be seventy-four this October. Wizards’ aging continues to astound me, as well. Not that I’m ungrateful.” Her tone turned somber, “My father never made it this far, and he looked much older when he passed. I’ve been given incredible opportunities in the time I’ve been given, and god willing, I’ll be around a good while longer.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Your father was a Muggle?” 

There was a lingering sadness in Minerva’s voice when she replied, “Aye. He didn’t find out that Mother was a Witch until I was several months old and she could no longer hide my accidental magic. Through many years and two more children after myself, I don’t think he ever quite forgave her for keeping the secret as long as she did. I can’t say as I blame him, but it was a different time in the twenties when they married. These days, I don’t see any reason for such secrecy in relationships. Honesty is the best policy, which is something you’d do well to remember, Hermione.” 

After what she’d been through with Ron and Luna, Hermione completely agreed. “Absolutely. I’m sorry to hear about your father.” She spoke softly as she offered her condolences, and had Minerva’s hand been within reach, Hermione would have reached over to touch it in comfort, but as both of her hands were still hidden under the edge of the desk on the arms of her chair, Hermione settled for a soft and sad look in her direction. 

Minerva returned the forlorn look with one of her own. “It’s an old wound, and time has softened its effects somewhat.” She took a moment to collect herself. “As to your initial inquiry, of course you’re always welcome at Hogwarts, and I would very much like it if you came for a monthly meeting with me. I don’t want to lose our friendship either.” 

“Would the third Sunday of each month work for you, starting in September? I don’t know how much time I’ll have over the summer between getting everything set up for all this,” she waved a hand over the scattered parchments, “and dealing with my parents.” 

“The third Sunday will be perfect.” Minerva said. She was confused at the last reference. “Your parents? You said at one time they had moved from the country, but the popular opinion seems to be that they’re dead.” 

“Both are essentially correct. The people who raised me, while still alive and very much out of the country, no longer exist as my parents.” She looked down, ashamed of what she’d done. “I Obliviated them before going on the run. They have no memories of me or of having ever been parents. They’d always talked about how much they liked Australia and wished they could take a holiday there, so when I removed myself from their lives, I enhanced this desire. Without me to hold them back, they moved a couple months later and sold their house in London.” 

Minerva was deeply surprised. That was an amazingly advanced piece of magic for a seventeen year old to have been able to pull off. Many people who were much older couldn’t have done it. 

Sadness and worry washed over Hermione like waves in a storm, crashing against her soul one right after the other. “Part of my summer will be spent tracking them down. I did what I did out of love and trying to protect them from Voldemort, but I need to know they’re okay. It’s been two years, and I miss them so much, but there’s been that divide between the Muggle and Magical worlds that we’ve had problems getting past at times over the years since I started Hogwarts. I fear that if I remove the memory charms and they realize what I’ve done to them, it’ll be the last straw that makes them turn their backs on me for good. Is it better to have them out there, knowing nothing about me or magic but happy and safe, or to have them frightened of me and what I can do? I honestly don’t know, Minerva, and I’m scared of all the outcomes.” 

Minerva was quiet for a moment, taking in everything Hermione had said. Finally, she carefully replied, “I think it’s a tricky situation. You should definitely find them first. Watch them for a few days. See just how happy they are. If you honestly think you could live with yourself for leaving them oblivious to you and to the magical world, then do it. Leave them alone, come home, and try to bring yourself to terms with your decision. It won’t be easy, but as they say, ignorance is bliss, and your parents will never know what a brilliant, strong, courageous daughter they raised. 

“I do not, however, endorse this path. Instead, I would strongly suggest that you find them and remove the memory charms. It will take several minutes for their memories to assimilate. Once they’ve adjusted, explain yourself. See what they have to say. I fully expect that once you remove the charms and explain what you did and why, your parents will want you back in their lives. 

“However, if that is not the case; if things are as bad as you fear they might be, reapply the memory charms, come home, and immediately come to see me. If not me, talk to Harry or one of the Weasleys or someone else you trust. Do _not_ try to deal with that situation on your own, Hermione. I don’t care how strong you are, that is not something you should do alone.” 

“That… that makes a lot of sense. Thank you for the advice. I promise that no matter what the outcome, I’ll let you know.” Hermione was silent for a moment, the waves of despair beginning to recede. “I … I should finish my letters now.” She picked up her quill and began to write again, pushing the thoughts of her parents to the side so she could concentrate on more immediate matters. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The letters were sent off the next morning, and in the end, both Masters agreed to the altered timetable, only asking for an additional 200 galleons to compensate for their time over the summers. The following Thursday afternoon found Minerva at Gringotts to discuss the terms of making payments from Morgan’s vault. When she’d shown up and requested access to Vault 600, the goblin had been very courteous, which was quite out of character for Gringotts goblins, and had shown her to a small but plush side chamber, asking her to wait. 

She was seated in a very comfortable wingback chair, and had been waiting about fifteen minutes. She was mindlessly toying with the ring on her right index finger, turning it round and round. 

The door opened, and in walked a very old-looking goblin. His long nose was so hooked as to completely overtake his mouth, curving down to rest where his chin met his neck. He was very tall for a goblin, the top of his head nearly the same height as Minerva’s shoulders. 

“Are you the Witch requesting access to Vault 600?” His deep voice questioned. 

“Yes. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I was told in 1974 that I was granted access, though I have never since used it.” 

“Indeed, Madam McGonagall. I am Ragnok, the President of Gringotts, and from its beginning, I have supervised all dealings with this vault and its owner.” He paused, keen black eyes taking in the finely worked green and black woolen robes, the slightly heeled black leather boots, and the coal-colored hair that was tightly pulled back and mostly hidden under the pointed hat resting atop her head. “Madam Stewart left strict instructions for you to be shown every courtesy granted to her. I apologize for the wait, but Eargrod has much to learn on what it means to service our VIP customers.” He paused for a moment to glower. “He will be taught. Madam Stewart is a very important customer, after all.” 

Minerva was surprised to find herself dealing with the President of the bank. _Just how important is Morgan to the bank, and why?_ Minerva found herself wondering. 

“I had no idea Morgan was so important to the bank, Master Ragnok.” 

He puffed up a bit at the title used to address him, a wicked smile crossing his lips, the sharp teeth peeking through ominously. “Madam Stewart was always in the unshakeable habit of calling me Master as well, Madam McGonagall. Other customers do not offer the same courtesy. Thank you.” He bowed deeply, one arm at his waist and the other behind his back, then straightened. 

“We are not the only magical beings deserving of respect, even if most of our population is not yet aware of that.” Minerva, like Hermione, was aware of and sympathetic to the plight of the intelligent so-called ‘sub-human’ races, and it appeared that Morgan had been as well. 

“Well said, Madam. Now to business. Do you have your key? I was told its shape might have been slightly altered.” 

“Yes, I have it.” Minerva reached to take the silver ring from her finger, but Ragnok stopped her with a gesture. 

“No need, Madam. It must only touch the door. Madam Stewart changed the enchantments on the vault door so that you would not have to alter its new form. Seeing that it has become a ring, the need for not only the touch of the key but also the touch of your skin has become apparent.” He turned and opened the door, holding it open with his left hand while his right gestured fluidly for her to precede him through it. “If you will come with me, I will take you down.” 

Several minutes later, Minerva and Ragnok were deep within the bank’s vault caverns, the brakes screeching loudly as they slid to a stop alongside the ledge bordering vaults 600 through 609. He stepped to the landing first, then extended a hand to help her out, surprising her again. She wasn’t used to this level of courtesy from the goblins when she visited her own vault, which was closer to the surface than Morgan’s. Normally she was lucky to get half a grunt from her escort, mostly greeted with snarls and threatening looks. 

They walked the short distance to the door marked with glittering gold letters, writing out Vault Six-Hundred, rather than the standard numerals used on most other vault doors. The door was tall and made of a strong matte-finished metal. In the center of the door, just under the golden script, were two handprints, slightly sunken into the metal. One was for a left hand, slightly smaller than its right-handed counterpart, each index finger containing a small indentation where a ring would sit. 

“If you will just press your right hand into its space, the vault will open for you.” 

Minerva was a bit nervous. The only thing she’d ever had to do to open a vault was insert a key and turn; none of this touching nonsense. She wasn’t a tried-and-true Gryffindor for nothing, however, and so press her hand against the imprint, she did. The door glowed brightly before parting down the center and sliding inward. “Welcome, Min. It’s all for you,” a disembodied voice floated out of the vault, making her heart ache with need and wanting, her eyes closing. It was Morgan’s husky voice, and as it echoed through the room of the vault, Minerva’s hand rose to her chest, resting for a moment over her heart. 

_Gods, I miss her. Come back to me, Morgan. Please come back to me. Be okay. Be alive. Come back to me._ She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, looking around the inside of the vault for the first time. Her jaw nearly dropped when she saw how much money was piled up. It was all neatly organized on shelves and tables and desks, in piles of golden galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts. There were some shelves with magical artifacts that had to be priceless to the right person, and… Minerva was shocked to see the Philosopher’s Stone, resting inside a small padded box, the lid left open with the stone on display. 

There was a thick envelope propped against the side of the stone’s box with her name written in a familiar script. With a tear in her eye, she reverently reached for the envelope. She flipped it over and broke the red wax seal, pulling out two sheets of heavy parchment, filled with large and flowery handwriting. 

_Minerva,_

_I have been tasked with writing a letter for someone else who finds herself unable to write her own letter at this time. I am told that by the time you read it, I will be gone. I am sorry, but you have long known my stance that to the well-organized mind (and mine has always been extraordinarily well-organized), death is but the next adventure. Perhaps I am, even now, enjoying time in the afterlife with the man I still love, no matter what came in our later lives. Perhaps not. I shan’t know until I am gone, and as yet, I am still here._

_Miss Stewart has been given Nicholas’ stone for safe-keeping, for reasons I cannot at this time explain. Please do not ask my Portrait self about this, as I will not answer._

_She is glaring at me with a ferocity I have only ever seen from you, so I shall now move on to her portion of the letter._

**_Min. I wish I could be there with you right now, able to put my arms around you and comfort you. Know that if my life’s work did not keep me so tied, I would be there for you every day and every night. I hate having to leave you so often and for so long at a time, but I have no choice, as much as it pains us both to be apart._ ** ****

**_As you are now in the vault, I assume some need has arisen for my money. Take as much as you need, no matter the amount. With growth patterns being what they are, it’s likely that you could completely clean it out (but for the stone, of course. Please close its box once you’re done. I only left it open to bring your attention to the letter.), and it would be refilled in a matter of months. My investments are that secure._ ** ****

**_If you are here to set up payments for a student’s education, as I long ago hinted that you may, please speak with Master Ragnok. He has instructions to set up a once-yearly draft to however many recipients you need for any amount. If you have any personal need at this time, again, please take whatever amount you deem necessary. I think you can see that it would be a mere drop in the proverbial bucket._ ** ****

**_I must go now, but please know that I love you so much, and that I ache for you when we are not together. My heart beats and bleeds for you, Min, and you are the best part of me. - Morgan_ **

_She really is a most talented Witch, and if I may say so without your fiery Scottish jealousy erupting, quite striking. I believe you to be quite well-matched. I find that I am a little disappointed that you never thought to entrust me with this knowledge, even after I told you of my own past, but such is the nature of secrets. You have, if it means anything at all, my blessing, Minerva. Be happy if you can._

_May the winds of fate blow you on a most interesting course, and may it be another lifetime before you join me on the other side._

_Albus_

_(P.S. I would ask how it is that she gets to shorten your name, when I have always been denied that right, even after nearly sixty years of friendship, but I have a feeling that I know the answer and it is a method which neither of us would ever have allowed. –AD)_  

Laughing quietly at his cheek in the post-script, Minerva could almost see the damn twinkle in his eyes as he’d written that bit. She ran her fingers over the parts of the letter that had been dictated by Morgan. A letter, not only from her absent lover, but also from the best friend she’d ever had. It was a gift without equal. She sighed deeply before folding the letter, replacing it in its envelope, and tucking it into the inner breast pocket of her robes, over her heart. She reached up to close the little box holding the Philosopher’s Stone, feeling a mild magical shock as the box’s lid snapped to its base. The clasp disappeared, along with the seam, until what was left was a box that nobody could possibly open. 

Taking another look around the massive vault, Minerva called out, “Master Ragnok?” 

“Yes, Madam?” He turned to step into the vault, stopping with a practiced ease just inside the door. 

“I am told that Morgan left instructions with you about a drafting system. Where can we discuss that?” She turned away from the treasure-filled room to speak with him. 

“We can discuss that kind of business up in my office. Is there anything else you require from the vault itself?” 

She glanced around one last time. “No. No, I think I’m done.” 

“Very well, Madam. If you would just come this way, please.” He gestured toward the platform outside the door. Minerva left the vault essentially untouched, and stepped back out. “Now, if you could just place your hand back into its space, the vault will close itself back up.” 

She slid her hand back into the indentation that matched her hand, and the doors silently swung closed, fusing back together with a flash. 

Minerva made the draft arrangements over a cup of strong coffee in Ragnok’s office, leaving afterward for Hogwarts. She sent a quick note off to Hermione upon her arrival, letting her know that the payments had been taken care of. She spent the rest of the evening curled up in her chair by the fire, reading and re-reading the letter, eventually falling asleep where she sat, the letter pressed tightly between her hand and her heart. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next day, Hermione left Hogwarts for the last time as a student. Everywhere she walked that day, she drew into her memory. Over there, she had run from Harry and Ron in first year when Ron had called her a nightmare. It wasn’t a good memory in itself, but if Ron hadn’t said it, she wouldn’t have spent the day crying in the bathroom, and if she hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t have been there for the Troll to find, and the three of them might never have been friends at all. 

That was where Moody-Crouch had coined the popular phrase “The Amazing Bouncing Ferret” when he used Malfoy for a Transfiguration toy. It had been amazingly funny at the time, but in retrospect, it had been a very dangerous piece of magic. Malfoy was lucky Minerva had been around to undo the spell. 

Up there, she had received her first kiss. Viktor hadn’t been the best kissing partner, and in her limited experience, had actually been the worst of the lot. His lips had been too wet, but she hadn’t known at the time that not everyone was like that. 

That’s where she had been standing when she’d glanced around the corner with her mirror and been petrified by the Basilisk. 

Wandering through the Entrance Hall, she passed the room they’d been pressed into after crossing the lake in First Year. It had been the second time she’d seen Minerva, and she’d been so eager to impress the Professor as much as she’d been impressed herself when she’d seen the oddly dressed woman on her parents’ doorstep. Minerva had given them a little speech about the presence of magic and had talked with her parents about all the accidental, uncontrolled magic she’d done. They’d been given a little information on the school itself and the House system. Minerva had told them that she was the Head of Gryffindor House, and from that had stemmed Hermione’s desperate wanting to be placed in it. 

The more she walked, the more memories she tucked away. They were precious memories. Some were good, some were bad, and some were wonderful. All were part of her past, part of what made her into who she was. She was happy with herself. There were going to be some hard years coming, but Merlin-willing, she would come out the other side a stronger, happier, and more fulfilled person. 

Her trunk was packed and ready to go, her rooms stripped of anything that hadn’t been there when she arrived last September. The carriages were waiting to take them all to the station. Luna had been making herself scarce lately, which was understandable, but Hermione hooked one arm into Ginny’s, the other into Neville’s, and the three of them walked down the steps from the front doors and left, ready to face their futures. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione stayed with Harry for two weeks before taking a series of Ministry-approved Portkeys from London to Sydney. From there, she began searching for her parents. It took her a week and a half, as they had settled further north along the coast in Brisbane. Taking Minerva’s advice, she spent another week and a half watching the Wilkenses go about their lives. They appeared to be happy, busy, and didn’t seem to miss having a daughter. 

Drawing up her courage, that Saturday morning, she knocked on their door. Her mum answered the door warily, but a subtle _Confundus_ got Hermione inside, where she temporarily petrified both of her parents. Undoing the complex memory charms left her shaking from exertion, but she could finally see recognition in the eyes of her parents. 

A quick Finite later, her reanimated parents were yelling and screaming at her. Hermione sat and listened to everything they had to say, head downturned, tears streaming silently down her cheeks and dripping onto her lap. Finally they quit yelling and in a quiet voice, her mother asked, “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone, Hermione? We were happy here. We haven’t known how to relate to you ever since you went off to that school. Our profession wasn’t good enough for you; you had that magical doctor fix your teeth rather than letting us use what we know and do every day. You started spending all your holidays where the magic was instead of at home with us. You quit allowing us to be your parents long before you used your magic to remove yourself from our lives. We’ve been so happy here the last two years. I can’t go back to the way it was before.” 

Hermione could barely talk for her sobbing, but managed to let them know that while she couldn’t redo the memory charms just then, she’d be back the next morning to take care of it, and they wouldn’t have to worry about seeing her again afterward. 

Numbly, she walked back to her hotel room, not feeling the cold wind as it pierced through her unbuttoned jacket. Not bothering to undress once inside, she curled up in the middle of the bed, and cried herself to sleep. 

Very early the next morning, she packed her things up and checked out of the hotel. Her parents were still asleep when she reached their house, which made the Obliviation process that much easier. Her job done, she left through the back door, finding a quiet yard that had privacy fencing, which helped Hermione out quite a bit. Nobody could see as she closed her eyes, focused on Minerva and Hogwarts, and disapparated with a loud crack. 

It had been six in the morning in Brisbane, but back in Scotland, it was eight o’clock the previous evening. Another loud crack broke the silence as Hermione appeared before the gates of the school. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she barely managed to get her hand up to touch the gate before collapsing in a heap. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Having received notification from the school that someone was at the gates, Minerva was walking down the path crossly, annoyed at having her late dinner interrupted. _This had better not be another reporter trying to get an interview,_ she thought with a scowl. She approached the entrance to the school and didn’t see anyone at first. Then, sensing her arrival, the iron gates swung inward, revealing a dark lump on the ground. Minerva picked up her pace, falling to her knees and turning the person over. “Hermione,” she whispered, aghast at finding her like that. She pulled her wand from its sheath at her waist, sending a quick Patronus message to Poppy, thankful the Mediwitch was still on the premises. She cast a feather-light charm on Hermione, put her wand back in its sheath, then scooped her up and began to run as quickly as she dared, not wanting to jostle her friend too much, but needing to get her up to the Hospital Wing as soon as possible. 

Luckily for them both, Minerva had left the front doors ajar on her way down, so she didn’t have to stop to open them. She sent up a quiet prayer that the staircases would cooperate, and was rewarded by an unhindered path upstairs. Madam Pomfrey was waiting at the entrance to her domain. She ushered the Headmistress over to the closest bed, where she carefully deposited Hermione, cancelling the feather-light charm as her body rested on the bed. 

Minerva stood back to allow Poppy room to examine her, chest heaving from her flight up. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Minerva. Sit down and conjure up some water to drink. She’ll be fine, and I don’t need another patient on my hands.” Minerva did what she was told, watching as Poppy cast a series of diagnostic spells, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

After what felt like hours, but was actually only several minutes, Poppy stood back and said, “Don’t worry, Minerva, it’s only magical exhaustion. It looks like she did some incredibly advanced magic and then turned around and apparated several thousand miles further than is recommended.” She shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t have thought Miss Granger stupid enough to try something like this instead of taking a series of Portkeys, especially after whatever spell she cast that drained her so much.” 

“Oh. Oh, no. She apparated several _thousand_ miles over the recommended limit?” Minerva closed her eyes, realizing what would have driven Hermione to apparate so far, and after such a drain on her magic. And she’d come to Minerva instead of to Harry. _Things must have gone very badly._  

“Hmm, yes. She’ll be out until at least morning, as drained as she was. Will you be by to check on her then? I know the two of you got pretty close last year.” 

“Actually, can I stay? If she does wake earlier than you think, I don’t want her to be alone. I think I know what happened, and she won’t need to be by herself.” Worry was written plainly on her face, concern in every word. 

“Of course, if you feel so strongly about it. It’s not like I’m fully booked with injured students right now like I am after the Gryffindor-Slytherin matches. Help yourself to a bed, dear. I’m off to bed myself. I’ve a good book calling my name. If you need me, send another Patronus.” The Mediwitch bustled off to her enjoined quarters, leaving Minerva alone with Hermione. 

She stood and walked over to stand beside the occupied bed. She transfigured Hermione’s Muggle clothes into what she remembered passing for sleeping attire for the younger witch and pulled the thin blanket over her body, tucking it lightly around her shoulders. The bushy brown hair had come loose, and the change from the dry cold of the Australian winter to the mild but humid heat of a Scottish summer hadn’t been kind to it. Minerva’s cool hands smoothed frizzy hair out of the sleeping face, one of her palms coming to rest against Hermione’s cheek. 

The sleeping witch leaned into the touch, unconsciously muttering Minerva’s name and smiling. In response, a thumb grazed tenderly along her cheekbone before withdrawing. 

Minerva stepped back and left Hermione to sleep and regain her magical stores. She reached up and freed her hair from its bun, braiding it as usual before transfiguring her own clothes into a light cotton nightgown in a tartan print and climbing into the next bed over from where Hermione slept. She cast an alarm spell that would wake her if Hermione woke herself or was in distress while she refilled her magical reserves. Tucking her wand under her pillow and bringing the blanket up over her form, Minerva drifted off. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione stayed a week at Hogwarts. Her reserves took that long to completely refill, and emotionally, she was incapable of caring for herself. Minerva moved her from the Hospital Wing to her own suite after that first night, the guest bedroom being put to use for the first time. She spent much of the week in debilitating tears, Minerva holding her through the worst, and it eventually began to get better. By the time her magic was back to its normal level, she was stable enough to go back to the CM. 

She told Harry and Ron, and had another minor breakdown session. Slowly, as the summer went on, she got better, occasionally slowed down by a bad night. One of those nights, she crawled into Ron’s bed. He was confused, but she put her fingers over his lips, and said she just needed to be touched and loved without worrying about anything else. As with their first time, he found himself unable to say no. He knew it wouldn’t fix anything, and he knew somewhere deep inside that he was being used, but couldn’t make his hormonal nineteen-year old mind care. 

She kissed him and wrapped her naked body around his, and for a while, they both forgot their troubles. 

Neither of them mentioned it the next morning, or at all in the days that came after. July moved into August, and with a purpose looming front of her, Hermione began to prepare for the grueling schedule of work and study. 

She met with Xerophan Catalpa and was shocked by his appearance. He was very tall, even taller than Snape had been, and quite solidly built. His skin was the color of bronze, and completely free of hair except for his eyebrows and the waist-length solid white hair, which was never pulled back, instead flowing freely over his shoulders and down his back. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes. They were white like his hair. The pupils were black, surrounded by a thin golden band, then white irises, another thin golden band, surrounded by more white in the sclera. 

They got along famously, and although she was only scheduled to work two days a week, they were both optimistic about the work she was set to do. 

She had similar meetings with Master Piliwickle and Mistress O’Neill, who both reported prompt payment of her fees by a Gringotts draft, and indicated how happy they were to help usher her into the upper educational system of the Wizarding world. Her first week on any official timetable was set to begin on Monday, the sixth of September, which was the first Monday of the month. 

Despite her previous insistence that she would get her own flat, Hermione decided to stay on with Harry at the CM. It was in a central location for all the places she needed to be during the week, and had the added benefit of the back garden for apparating safely to where she needed to go. 

Per their agreement, Hermione showed up on the nineteenth of the month at Hogwarts. After expressing her concern over Hermione’s well-being, Minerva settled back into their routine. Since they were to be more infrequent, the length of their meetings was extended to three hours. Month after month, she came, and the two witches discussed both Hermione’s Ministry work and Apprentice work. Minerva offered tips when she thought they would be helpful, and Hermione received the knowledge, her brain ever a sponge. 

Sometimes Minerva would have a rant about the drama of the school; students misbehaved fantastically, professors got up to hijinks of their own, and the responsibility for it all fell on Minerva’s shoulders. On those nights, Hermione put off her own concerns and listened to her friend yell and shout, quietly offering tea or biscuits, or on one notable occasion, whiskey. They agreed that was an experience neither wanted to discuss ever again. 

Time passed in this way, and the friendship between the two women only grew deeper and stronger. The next summer did not interrupt their meetings any more than it interrupted Hermione’s work or studies. 

Nor did the next summer. 

Every now and again, Hermione’s body would begin to thrum with need, and with her hectic schedule, she had no time to try and date anyone. Ron was in and out of relationships, and if he was available when her need grew, they had an arrangement to take care of each other without any strings attached. If it bothered him that sometimes she only wanted certain aspects of the physical acts that satisfied her lust, he never made it known to her. On those nights, he would pleasure her with his fingers and tongue, and she would return the favor. 

Her emotional attachment to him was never any deeper than it had been after their first time. He was only a warm and willing body when she got desperate enough, and that was the arrangement. Another year passed, and her fourth year as an Apprentice was drawing to a close. 

In a surprising turn, Harry showed up for his twenty-third birthday party with Luna. Neville and Ginny had recently announced their engagement, and Harry had finally let go of the idea that she would come back to him eventually. Luna had recently completed her Mastery in Magical Creatures, and was taking the summer off before setting out to prove the existence of all the crazy-sounding creatures she’d ever claimed existed, but was unable to prove due to a lack of evidence. 

A chance meeting between the two in Diagon Alley had led to a few dates, and both were happy with the ease of the relationship. That Christmas, between her exploration expeditions and his work as a rising Auror, he managed to propose, and she gleefully accepted. 

Hermione worried that she – and by extension – Ron were about to be out of a place to live, but a conversation with Harry put those fears to rest. He appreciated all the work they’d all put into the CM, but he didn’t want to live there forever. He had looked into the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow, and found that he owned it as well as the only surviving member of his family. Once spring came, he told her, he was going to start working to rebuild and restore the place where his father had grown up so that he and Luna would have a fresh place to start their lives together. The CM would remain as it was, available to whoever needed it, and he would still be there for probably another year or two until the construction at Godric’s Hollow was completed and he and Luna could marry. 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She just didn’t have time to try to find somewhere else. Things continued along the same vein, and at the close of her fifth year out of Hogwarts, she was tired, but fulfilled. She was nearing the end of the outlined coursework for both of her Masteries, and was expecting to wrap up her final projects and be fully qualified by the end of one more year. 

Things were going perfectly for the twenty-four year old. And then … they weren’t. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I really hate sitting and coming up with names for original characters, and while I'd completely avoid them if I could, this fic has basically forced me to come up with quite a few. So forgive me. I shamelessly borrowed Sam from Stargate SG-1. And yes, she's married to Jack. Because there are no regs against it in my Magical world. I won't borrow any more characters from them, although I could have so much fun inserting someone like Teal'c, and Hermione and Daniel would get along FAMOUSLY. Uh, does anyone now want to write me a little crossover AU where Hermione (and Minerva!) and Daniel and Sam are all witches/wizards and best geeky friends? And Jack just stands in the corner with Ron and Harry like "I have no clue what they're going on about." Just a little ficlet? No? Well, damn. I tried.
> 
> A lot happened this chapter for our intrepid duo. Next time, we finally begin to get into why I've called this "She Who Turns Time" and how it affects Hermione, Minerva, and the rest of the Wizarding world. In short, we get into the reason I started writing the story in the first place.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> I would say that I’m sorry for the massive cliff-hanger with which I left you last time, but let’s just be honest here, I’m not. I’m an evil bitch who left you with the drama of “Things were perfect … and then they weren’t.” Hate me if you must, but keep reading. Things are about to get interesting. 
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

_Saturday 19 June 2004_  

Minerva sat behind the large desk in the Head Office at Hogwarts, going through budget revisions. She’d always done them for Albus as well, and although she had absolutely no desire to continue doing them for herself, she couldn’t bring herself to foist the most hated of duties off on anyone else. A discreet chime let her know that it was only an hour until midnight. With a sigh, she put aside her quill and recapped the pot of ink. The budgets could wait; she was going to bed. 

Near one in the morning, Minerva couldn’t get to sleep. She sat up in the bed and reached to punch her long pillow into shape before slumping back down onto it, somewhere between being on her stomach and her side, with her arms wrapped around the pillow the way one might cuddle into a lover by resting your head on their chest. It just wasn’t the same. She was craving Morgan, and a lumpy pillow wouldn’t do. 

She sighed as she gave in to her baser desires and reached for her wand. She started by lengthening the already long pillow so that it was as long as Morgan was tall. She then gave it the shape of her lover’s body, detaching pieces for the arms and splitting the bottom portion to make her legs. She turned a couple of the troublesome lumps into soft breasts, then, pleased with her work so far, she cast a heating charm and brought it to body temperature. The last addition was a simulated heartbeat and carefully timed breaths. 

She laid her head on top of the heartbeat, wrapped her arms around the pillow’s waist, and cast one final charm on the free arm of the pillow, making it stroke up and down her side the way Morgan used to do. 

She hated herself every time she did this, but sometimes, it was the only way she could sleep when alone. Sure enough, she was soon drifting off to dreams. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Several hours later, brown eyes scratched open, wondering why on earth her pillow was moving. Hermione tried to sit up to investigate, but found that she was being held down by a strong arm. _Oh. Ron. Gods, I swore last time would be THE last time. How did I end up…?_ And then the memories crashed back into her mind. Celebrating the passage of the bill protecting the rights of house-elves. Getting piss-drunk on rum, which was _never_ a good idea for her, but it was the only liquor in the house and nobody had felt like going out to get anything else. Being unable to sleep alone in her bed and crawling in with Ron. She squeezed her eyes back together tightly. 

Hermione had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t do this again with him. At first, it had been just release for both of them. She would need to feel loved, and he was alone and available, and they would satisfy their physical needs with each other. Lately, however, she thought she could feel more coming from his side, and she wanted to avoid hurting him if at all possible. She had always been clear on what she wanted from him, but they hadn’t actually talked about it in a couple years, so maybe he was reading too much into the continued dalliance. 

Managing to throw his arm off, she crept from the bed, gathered up her clothes, and bolted from the room. A quick shower later, with her hair in a pair of damp French braids, she pulled on a comfortable shirt, a pair of knee-length denim shorts, socks and trainers, grabbed her ever-present little beaded bag, and left the house for a day of shopping. 

Other patrons of Diagon Alley gave her odd looks for her Muggle outfit, not having the benefit of a nice wizard’s robe or cloak to cover it up, but she dressed very professionally six days of the week. Sundays were “damn them all” days where she wore what she wanted and a pox on anyone who cared. 

The first shop she ducked into was, of course, Flourish and Blotts. She spent an hour going through their Transfiguration section, and another in Charms. She had picked out three Transfiguration books, and four Charms texts. Bringing the heavy books to the counter, she inquired about the rarer tomes she had on order, and was delighted to find that a couple had been found. She paid for her purchases, stowed them safely in her bag, and turned to leave. 

She stopped herself when she noticed a tall witch standing between her and the door, busily perusing a thick book on Potions. She had red hair, lighter than Weasley-red and liberally sprinkled with blonde highlights, tumbling in loose curls around her face. She was three or four inches taller than Hermione, and willow-thin. Her facial features strongly resembled those of her former teacher, Severus Snape, and in fact, had Hermione not known better, she would have believed this witch to be the love-child of Snape and Lily Potter, Harry’s mum. She even had Lily and Harry’s eyes. 

She was … beautiful, and Hermione was dumbstruck. Last night with Ron should have killed off her lustful impulses for a while, but this witch woke everything inside, making her body scream with _want._ Hermione made herself leave the shop before she made a fool of herself by walking up and asking the other woman out, not knowing anything about her. She was probably dead straight. Probably a pureblood elitist. Would probably hex Hermione for even daring to speak to her. Would definitely have slapped her if she’d just walked up and done what her body was urging her to do by snogging her to within an inch of sanity. 

Hermione wandered aimlessly around Diagon Alley for a while until her lust had begun to cool. She had intended on doing quite a bit of shopping, but found that she needed to get out of magical London lest she saw the red-headed witch again. With a quick turn, she apparated back to the back garden of the CM. 

Back in her rooms, she pulled the new books from her bag, setting them in a neat pile on one side of her reading desk. One of the two rare volumes was on top of the stack, and she laid it in front of her, gingerly opening it and beginning to read. 

A couple hours later, she began to feel unsettled and it interrupted her reading. She picked her head up and looked around the room, finding the source of her unease standing in the doorway, propped against the frame. Ron was watching her read with a small, contented smile on his face. 

“Did you need something?” _Why, again, haven’t I gotten a flat of my own so I can have real privacy and alone time? Oh, right. Money. Time. I might need to look into that soon. Especially as I will definitely no longer be using Ron the way I have been. It’s unfair to him, especially if my suspicions are true._  

“Sorta. Do you have a minute?” He pulled away from the doorframe and sauntered into her room. 

She whined internally. _I really don’t want to deal with this right now._ “Sure. What’s up?” She turned in her chair to face his standing form. 

“We… we have a good thing going here, don’t we, Hermione?” He continued without waiting for a response. “I mean, half the time you leave without waking me, but you’ve always slept best alone, and you get up a lot earlier than I do, so I mostly appreciate that you let me sleep, but basically we’re good, aren’t we?” 

She looked at him warily. “Basically. So far. Yes.” Her words were stilted, wondering what was coming. 

“Right, and I know some married couples who don’t give each other the space and courtesy that we give each other, and they’re miserable. We manage this way and we’re pretty happy together. So, what I’m trying to get to is,” he paused to swallow. She had figured out where he was going, much to her growing horror. “Marry me. Let’s make it official. We may not have one of those passionate relationships that you read about in the Romance column of Witch Weekly, but we get along, and it’s working for us. So,” he knelt down in front of her, “marry me.” 

Her eyes slammed shut, and her worst fears for this conversation had just come true. “Ron. I… You know that no matter what, I love you. I always have, and I always will, but nothing’s changed for me. I love you, but I don’t love you like that.” _Oh god, here it comes. I don’t want to do this._ She opened her eyes, seeing the hurt on his face. She swallowed thickly past a lump in her throat and reached out to take his hand between hers. “I was actually going to talk to you soon about this. I … don’t think we should continue the way we have been. It’s not a healthy relationship that we’ve had the last few years. I’m sorry to hurt you, Ron, but somewhere you must know I’m right.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re always right.” He laughed bitterly. “Except when you’re not right, and then you’re total bollocks.” He jerked his hand out of hers and stood to loom over her. “I’ll be at The Burrow for a few days. I need some time.” He stalked stiffly out of the room, leaving a stunned Hermione in her desk chair. 

She couldn’t formulate a coherent thought and just sat in her chair, staring at the door he’d slammed behind him. She sat, mind empty of everything for several minutes before the walls started closing in on her and she had to get out. She grabbed her bag, shoving the stack of books into it haphazardly, and ran down to the garden, apparating quickly away. 

Hermione appeared outside the gates of Hogwarts seconds later. It was still several hours until she was supposed to be there, but she really needed to talk to her friend. She needed the comfort of the tea and the biscuits and the listening ears. So she walked up to the gates, pressed her hand to one of the metal bars, and waited for Minerva to come down. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva was not having a good day. After going to bed so late and having to charm her pillow just to sleep, she’d been woken up early because Peeves had taken it upon himself to wreak havoc in the kitchens just after dawn. With the students gone, it would normally have been a minor incident, but the house elves had witnessed too much of Peeves’ shenanigans over the years, and had finally had enough. 

Using some previously unknown variations of Wizards’ magic, twisted into a form that elf-magic could use, they had frozen him in place. Then, they had transported him out of the kitchens, sending him whizzing at top speeds around the castle. Since he was frozen and in corporeal form, he had slammed into walls and doors, screaming at the top of his lungs. 

Once she’d realized what was going on, Minerva had sat down with the leaders of the various factions of house-elves and talked them into bringing Peeves down to where they were meeting. They had done so, and stopped his flight, though he was still immobilized. She had finally wrangled an agreement out of the Poltergeist that he would henceforth leave the kitchens alone. If he broke his end of the agreement, the house-elves were given the right to band together and remove him from the school. 

She had been more than a little surprised to find that they had the ability to do so, but was pleased to have finally found a way to control Peeves other than calling for the Bloody Baron. 

An accord having been reached, the elves had released him, and horrified at his treatment, he’d run off to the deepest parts of the dungeons to sulk. 

That had been at 7:30. Knowing she’d be unable to get back to sleep at that hour, Minerva went back to the budgets she’d given up the night before, managing to get the last revision done by noon. She’d just sat down to her lunch when she felt a tingle of the castle’s magic, letting her know someone was at the front gates. Glancing longingly at her plate, she cast a charm to keep the food warm and went down to greet the visitor. 

It was a nice day outside; the sun was shining brightly, there was a cool breeze blowing, and the students were finally all gone, so it was calm and quiet. Despite her lunch having been interrupted, Minerva was quite enjoying her walk down to the gates. Since there were very few people left in the castle, she had decided to leave her heavy robes for the day, and was dressed in her standard comfort-wear. Her oxford shirt was turquoise-colored and short-sleeved, the top two buttons unfastened. Her loose-fitting trousers were a bright white. Her hair was still in its bun, but she chose not to wear her hat unless she was wearing robes, and loose strands were blowing gently in the breeze. 

She smiled when she saw Hermione waiting, hours early. Her day had just gotten immensely better. 

The gates swung open noiselessly, and Hermione turned to face her approaching friend. As soon as their eyes met, Minerva’s smile faded and her eyes softened with concern, feet halting their progress. There was something wrong. 

Hermione took hesitant steps forward before rushing the remaining distance between them, wrapping her arms around the slim waist and burying her head into Minerva’s chest, beginning to sob almost immediately. 

Minerva had seen what was coming with about two seconds’ notice, and had been able to prepare for the impact. As the younger woman threw herself into the embrace, Minerva wrapped her left arm around Hermione’s back, bringing the right up to cradle the back of the head tucked under her chin. As she’d done before, Minerva comforted her friend with soft words and a warm embrace, allowing her to cry out her grief. 

Hermione’s tears began to slow, and her voice scratched out, “Oh, Minerva, why did he have to fuck it all up?” 

“Why did who have to …fuck what up?” Minerva frowned and stuttered over the vulgar word, and her hands stopped their soothing motions along Hermione’s back. 

Hermione shoved herself back and spat out, “Ron!” 

“Ah, I see.” _I thought she’d given up on Weasley years ago._ “What has the thickheaded Mr. Weasley done now?” She found herself tensed up, hands clasped tightly in front of her, arms rigid, with lips pursed in disapproval. Merlin help him if he’d hurt her Hermione. 

“He _proposed_ , the great git.” Hermione was pacing in front of Minerva now, arms gesticulating wildly. “As though I’d want that! I thought he _knew_ by now! _Why_ would he be so bloody _stupid_?” She stopped and deflated somewhat. “Why would he do it, Minerva? Now everything’s ruined.” 

Minerva’s eyes were wide open at the revelation. “He… proposed. Marriage?” 

“No, he proposed that we get up on the table and dance like drunken monkeys.” She snapped. “Of course he proposed marriage.” Hermione was sorry for her words the moment they left her lips, but it was too late to take them back. She expected Minerva to lecture her on the proper ways a young woman should address her elders or her friends, and was bracing herself with closed eyes. 

She didn’t expect to hear Minerva’s voice calmly say, “Walk with me, Hermione.” 

Her eyes cracked open, seeing the older woman standing, more relaxed than a moment earlier, and holding a crooked arm out in Hermione’s direction. 

“You seem like you have some rather unpleasant things to discuss, and in my experience, unpleasant things can be made to appear somewhat less so if discussed outside on glorious days like today.” She gestured with her elbow, and her voice picked up a bit more steel. “Walk with me.” 

Still shocked, Hermione placed her hand in the crook of Minerva’s outstretched left arm, and found her hand tucked against the side of her companion, being patted lightly by Minerva’s free right hand. Thankful for the calming contact, Hermione rested her left hand on top of the pile, squeezing the one underneath hers, and the two witches began to walk. 

“I’m sorry I was snappish.” Hermione managed after a moment. 

“No need, dear. I was the one who asked a stupid question.” Minerva looked over at the witch by her side. “Now that you appear to have calmed down a bit, why don’t you tell me what happened.” 

They continued walking, coming up on the Western shore of the lake, and turning to walk along its bank, curving North toward the castle. 

Hermione sighed, gathering her thoughts. She wasn’t sure how much to reveal to Minerva about the circumstances with Ron and their strange relationship over the last few years. Should she tell about Luna, especially now that she was going to marry Harry? Should she tell about the other encounters she’d had besides Ron and Luna? 

After all, Luna hadn’t been her only female lover. Yes, she and Ron been each other’s crutches, but there had been times over those five years when he’d been in a relationship. Hermione would put her need off as long as possible, but her fingers alone were never quite enough to silence it completely. It hadn’t happened too frequently, but when things got bad enough, Hermione would be absent from the CM for a night. 

She’d found a couple of gay and lesbian nightclubs in Muggle London, and once or twice a year, had visited them with the intention of finding a quick tryst. There was never a shortage of women who approached Hermione in these clubs, and she would pick one from the throng and go back to their place for the night. 

She’d learned the art of how to look at someone with the right amount of smolder to awaken their own lust. It was usually a good indicator of whether the woman was receptive to advances or only there with a friend. Hermione did love Ron, and was able to be satisfied by him, but these amorous liaisons with Muggle women cemented in her heart the knowledge that while she did have some vague interest in men, women were truly where her heart lay. 

Yet, she’d continued to use Ron because of convenience, and she was ashamed of herself for allowing it to go on as long as it had. 

Sighing deeply again, she decided to just start with the proposal and whatever came out after that would just have to be okay. 

“I… we. We got drunk last night. On Rum. Harry and Luna, Ginny and Neville, and Ron and me. We were celebrating and we got beyond drunk. Rum is not my best liquor unless I want certain things to happen, and … well …” she paused to shrug, wincing, “Ron was there. And available. And I slept with him. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I woke up, and I ducked out and went shopping for books. When I came back, he proposed – and rather badly really, at that. Of course I turned him down, because I don’t love him like that and never have, and I thought he felt the same way, but now he’s angry with me, and we won’t ever be able to go back to what we had before, and it’s all the fault of the rum and that damned witch in the bookshop who was really far more attractive than any woman has the right to be, and damn it all, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

Minerva listened to the long confession, surprised first by Hermione’s admission of a long-term physical relationship with Ron, further shocked when she’d left him to go book shopping, of all things, and finally astonished by the vague reference to an apparently very attractive witch. 

She reached up to rub her forehead between her eyes, and cut through it all. “So, you had sex with a man whom you do not love – I’m assuming not for the first time – were subsequently surprised by an unexpected proposal, which you turned down, hurting your friend-slash-lover, correct?” 

“Yes.” Minerva thought Hermione at least had the decency to sound embarrassed and guilty. 

“That much of it, I can understand, even if I don’t approve. You’ve treated him abominably from the way you describe things. However, what I don’t understand is this reference to a woman in a bookshop?” 

_Damn. She picked up on that part. Well, here goes!_ “Right. And yes, I know I’ve treated him badly, but to your point, there was a woman reading when I was getting ready to leave Flourish and Blotts this morning. She was … incredibly beautiful, and I was so attracted to her that if the location and situation been different, I would have snogged the hell out of her. You see,” she gulped, “I like women as well as men. Actually, I like women a hell of a lot more than I like men.” 

“Ah.” Minerva couldn’t get anything else out. Now she understood everything. 

“Please don’t hate me. I don’t know if I could bear that on top of everything else. I know it’s a shock, but that’s why I could never have accepted Ron’s proposal. I mean, he _knew_. I told him and Harry years ago when I started dating … On second thought, I’d better not name names, especially as she’s decided she’s more into men these days. But anyway, he knew, and I just don’t get where the proposal came from.” 

“Dear girl, I couldn’t hate you, either for that or anything else. It’s not something you can control. You love whom you love.” She let out a short ‘hmph’ of laughter. “If I hated you for loving women, I’d have to hate myself, and _that_ is simply unacceptable.” 

Hermione’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “You…?” 

“Yes, dear one,” She squeezed at Hermione’s captive hand, “I’m … what’s the vernacular these days, gay? Have been all my life, although I didn’t realize it for some years. You’ve heard me talk about Morgan, Hermione. Did you really think just any old friend would leave me full access to a vault filled with enough gold to pay for several hundred Apprenticeships as long and expensive as yours?” 

Hermione sputtered, “I just never thought about it.” 

Minerva’s eyes acquired a devilish glint, “You’re the one always insisting I’m not so very old. Are you insinuating that I’m too old for love?” 

“Not at all. I maintain that you’re not old, despite whatever numbers you try to throw at me.” Hermione had been laughing, but her voice got quiet as she said, “It’s just that you’ve always seemed so alone. You stay here at the school all summer, every summer and every break. We’ve become quite good friends in the years since the Battle, and this is the first I’m hearing of anything. I’ve only seen you outside of Hogwarts – or during school at Order Headquarters – a handful of times. I’m sorry that I’ve misunderstood you all this time.” 

“Well, Morgan and I don’t have the most conventional of relationships, that’s true, and I am sad, Hermione. Morgan has always had some sort of very secretive profession, and we usually go several years not being able to see each other, but I haven’t heard from her since before the war ended, and I’m worried that she didn’t make it. I understand if she’s busy with her job and can’t get away, but I wish she would just let me know she made it; that she’s alive and okay.” Minerva stopped walking and took in a ragged breath, gripping tightly to Hermione’s hand on her arm. “I think I could handle the idea of never seeing her again, Hermione, if that’s what had to happen, as long as she’s alive and well. I can’t stand the thought of being alive and in the world if she is not.” Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, and her eyes closed, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. 

Hermione held her hands tightly to those of her friend, trying to offer strength and what support she had to give. She’d never had the slightest idea of what one of her best friends was going through every day, and she was ashamed to have repeatedly brought her own troubles to Minerva’s door. 

“Is there anything I can do?” She gently asked, her heart inwardly breaking. 

“No, child. There’s nothing anybody can do except for Morgan herself.” Minerva collected herself and began walking again. They were nearly at the entrance to the castle. “Let’s go up for tea and clean ourselves up. Then we’ll talk some more, if you wish.” 

Hermione squeezed Minerva’s hand again. “That sounds lovely.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The two women sat in Minerva’s rooms for hours, sharing lunch, tea and biscuits later, and much later, dinner. With a new openness, they discussed their respective pasts. Armed with trust, Hermione finally told Minerva about her relationship with Luna in her final year of school. She even grudgingly told her of the few random one-night stands she’d had, not proud of them, but finally feeling free to speak of them. Minerva understood, and said she might have resorted to such activities over the years had her feelings for Morgan not been as strong as they were. 

Finally, near to midnight, Hermione used the Floo and went back to the large, empty house on Grimmauld Place. Her heart was still heavy over the pain she’d caused Ron, but there was also a lightness to her, brought about by the new level her relationship with Minerva had reached after they’d admitted their similar proclivities. 

Minerva was hurting too much for Hermione to be able to ignore, and she was going to try and fix things between Minerva and Morgan. 

But how? 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

It was Wednesday before she began to have a glimmer of a plan. Mistress O’Neill had taken on another apprentice a year after Hermione. Sally-Anne Perks and Hermione were the same age, and had started Hogwarts the same year, but the two hadn’t had much chance to interact. Sally-Anne had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and had been even more withdrawn and solitary than Hermione had been at first. 

Sally-Anne’s parents had pulled her from Hogwarts after their fourth year, when her cousin Cedric Diggory had been killed by Voldemort the night he returned. After three years of being taught at home, her parents had consented to allow her to return to Hogwarts to properly complete her education. With proper testing, Sally-Anne had been classified as a sixth-year when Hermione had been taking her delayed seventh-year courses. 

She didn’t have as much interest in Transfiguration as Hermione did, and was pursuing only the one Mastery in Charms, so she was closer to completing hers than Hermione was. She had completed all of her course-work, and was working through the summer to be able to present her final project as soon as possible. 

The Apprentice-to-Master process began with theoretical work, concentrating on ethics and how and why spells worked the way they did. Then it moved on to practical work, ensuring that everyone who reached the Master level was able to satisfactorily cast every standard spell taught, both with and without their wand, and both verbally and non-verbally. The studies culminated in the creation of a new spell or item, using the framework provided by all the earlier studies. This creation of a new spell or item was the final project on which Sally-Anne was currently working. 

Hermione was nearing that portion of both of her study courses, and didn’t know what she wanted to try and create. A conversation with Sally-Anne and Mistress O’Neill that morning started a chain reaction that would cause ripples across the fabric of time itself. 

It turned out that Sally-Anne Perks had chosen, for her final project, to create a new Locator Charm. With the eradication of Dementors following Voldemort’s defeat, Azkaban was left to be staffed by qualified witches and wizards, and they were simply not as infallible as their predecessors. Without the constant drain of happiness and energy provided by the Dementors, prisoners found that they had more time to concentrate on thinking of ways to escape from the rock, and escape they did, at times. It wasn’t terribly frequent, as the prison itself was remote, warded to the gills, and staffed by wizards very well skilled in the arts of keeping prisoners in line. 

Now and then, however, someone would get free, and inevitably set out to seek revenge or wreak general havoc. Sally-Anne’s aunt had been the unwitting victim of an escapee, and her improved Locator Charm would benefit the prison’s guards, as all it required was a bit of hair or anything else which could be used in a Polyjuice potion, and it would give an immediate location, working much like a Muggle GPS chip inserted under the skin, but far more reliable in that while a chip can be surgically removed, one cannot escape their genetic fingerprint. 

From this, Hermione had a brilliant idea. She wanted to find Morgan for Minerva, and once Sally-Anne’s project was complete, if she could only get a bit of genetic material somehow, she could use the Locator Charm to find Morgan and bring her back. 

Her plan was barely formed, and riddled with holes and problems, but it was something. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The following Sunday, Hermione used her day off to find, rent, and move into her own flat in Muggle London. Living frugally with Harry and Ron the last several years left her with a little nest egg, and she made enough at the Ministry, even working only part time, to support herself if she continued being frugal. 

The flat wasn’t large, and it wasn’t luxurious. It was a small two bedroom flat with one tiny bathroom, and a combined kitchen, dining room, and living area. The master bedroom was barely big enough to hold a double bed and had a small closet that nonetheless held all of Hermione’s clothing with ease. She was a witch, after all. The second bedroom was very small, but was just large enough to hold her bookshelves and a small reading and writing desk. 

Luckily for her, the main area of the flat did have a fireplace, and she had arranged with the Ministry to hook it up to the Floo network. After the war had ended, she’d left Crookshanks at the Burrow. He was happy there, able to chase garden Gnomes to his heart’s content, and between his own hunting and Molly’s cooking, he was very well-fed. Arthur and Molly enjoyed having him around, and he was becoming spoiled. Hermione couldn’t bear to take him away from that, and thus didn’t have to worry about pet deposits, or trying to care for him with her very busy schedule. 

Every Saturday, unbeknownst to her, Kreacher came in and kept her flat clean, knowing how his Mistress got caught up in her work and studies and would forget to do basic things like laundry or cleaning under the rim of her toilet. She never wondered how things never got dirty, and he never confessed to helping her out. It was his job; his raison d’etre, and he would _not_ allow his Mistress to live in filth if he had anything to say about it. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

A month later, she was still working through her plan, trying to figure it all out, but was missing the key ingredient of a way to get some of Morgan’s hair or skin or something without letting Minerva in on the plan. 

Hermione hadn’t had much time to read in the last month, and decided to put her plan-making aside for one night and indulge in her deepest passion by reading the books she’d purchased the day her plan had been hatched. 

In one of the two rare tomes that had come in that day, Hermione found the solution to her problems. There was a large portion on time-turners and their creation, and she had a major breakthrough. _That’s it. A time-turner. I’ll create a new time-turner. I’ll improve its range and capabilities, and I’ll go back in time for the hair, then bring it back here and cast the Locator Charm and bring Morgan and Minerva back together!_  

She sat up most of the night, making notes on how she might be able to acquire the raw materials necessary, and possibilities on how to improve the existing structure of a time-turner to make it do what she needed it to do. From everything she could surmise, it would be a massive feat, requiring both strong charms and transfiguration spells, and if she succeeded, the creation of this new item would serve to satisfy the requirements for completing both of her Masteries. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Getting the materials was more difficult than Hermione had initially expected. When they’d made such a mess of the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries eight years prior, it had taken several Unspeakables to halt the progress of destruction and repair at just the right moment to save a few precious time-turners. Some were still stuck in the endless cycle. Therefore, she was told in no few words that they didn’t care what kind of project she was working on, they would not part with even one grain of Sand in their possession. The Ministry did, however, say that if she could get ahold of some sand through other means, they would be able to provide her with one of the expandable chains which were used to allow witches and wizards to wear the standard-issue time-turners around their necks. 

So Hermione spoke with Bill Weasley, who used to work in Egypt for Gringotts, and he used some of his contacts to get her a small vial of fresh Sands of Time. Even though it was such a tiny amount, she thought it would be more than enough, although Bill had assured her that if she needed more to let him know. His source was interested in knowing the outcome of her experiments, and had said that whatever she needed would be hers. 

The glass which made up the hourglass was just regular glass, and therefore unimportant to the process, basically only delineating how far a traveler could go in the number of turns. It had been proposed over the years that a charm could be built into the creation process to give more control instead of having to turn the glass over and over, but nobody had yet come up with a spell that worked. 

The chain which had been promised to her by the Ministry had no effect on how the old turners worked, but was key to the process if a trip required more than one person. That was why they were made to be so expandable; one chain could extend enough to allow up to five people to travel together if necessary. 

Working from these initial parameters, Hermione worked with Masters Piliwickle and O’Neill to devise a working method to improve upon the time-turner. 

First, the acceptable range needed to be adjusted to allow for travel over many years rather than only a few hours. 

Second, there needed to be a way to get back home without having to live the median time. With as far back as Hermione was going to have to jump to accomplish her goal, this was essential. 

Third, security measures needed to be in place to prevent the initial traveler from being stuck in the past while someone else used the device to see the future. 

Mistress O’Neill was the first to suggest a solution to the first problem. If the grains of Sand were no longer loose, they wouldn’t need to be kept inside a glass container, and chances of breakage were greatly reduced, which assisted with the ideas set forth in the third problem. 

Hermione came up with the idea to transfigure the Sand into its own glass crystal using the idea of her Charms Mistress. Using plain sand to experiment, she found that she could do the transfiguration only with the addition of strong heat, much like Muggle glass-blowers used to turn sand into works of glass art. Three weeks of trials, and several failed tries finally had Hermione ready to use the real Sand, but she needed to solve the other issues before doing so. 

One Sunday meeting at the Burrow, called to celebrate the upcoming birth of Bill and Fleur’s third child, resulted in the other two problems being partially solved. Bill had asked about Hermione’s progress, and she was complaining that she hadn’t been able to find a set of Latin words that closely approximated what she wanted for the Incantations. Having heard the conversation, Fleur suggested she look at other languages, reminding her that while Latin was the normal language used for coming up with spell-words, other languages were equally valid. She even offered that since the Sands came from Egypt, Hermione may want to look at words taken from Egyptian or Arabic. 

Elated at the implications, Hermione grabbed Fleur and kissed her for the suggestion, not thinking about the consequences of what she was doing. Everyone had stopped and stared, mostly horrified at what they were seeing. It was an innocent kiss, but it did go on for several seconds, and afterward, Fleur dismissed a blushing Hermione’s concerns as the effects of a pregnant witch with Veela heritage, thanking her for a lovely kiss with a subtle wink. 

Later, Hermione remembered the kiss with a smile. She’d wondered for years what it would be like to kiss the quarter-Veela, and Fleur had not disappointed. 

Looking into both Egyptian and Arabic vocabulary, Hermione finally found the perfect Incantations. The first was _Ausafr_ , which was Arabic for “I travel.” Having the first of the words, she was able to solve the second problem in full. _Arj_ , Arabic for “I return,” would allow the original caster to return to the exact time and place from which they left. Putting the words in the tense she did also partially solved the third problem of security. Only the traveler would be able to properly cast _Arj_ , as anyone else who tried, would simply return to their own origin; having not used the crystal in the first place, they would remain where they were. 

Another month passed, and Hermione finally had a breakthrough on how to solve the final problem of security. In order to use the crystal to return home, the traveler would have to have it on his or her person. However, while in the past, there were far too many ways it could be lost or misplaced, keeping the traveler stuck. She had ordered Muggle takeaway for her dinner, not feeling up to cooking. She’d gone down when her food had arrived, and the young delivery man was riddled with tattoos on every exposed piece of his skin. This had given Hermione an idea. Once _Ausafr_ was cast, the crystal would disappear from the hand, and reappear as a tattoo somewhere on the traveler’s body, enabling the return spell to be cast at any time. 

In the event that more than one person attempted to make the same trip, the tattoo would appear on each of them so that they could return even if separated in the past, although the physical crystal would only reappear to whoever had been holding it when they departed. 

The final problem to be addressed had been resolved. The only thing left to do at that point was to start testing. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione began by creating her trademark Bluebell Flame inside a charmed diamond jar, then changing the mild heat of the Bluebell Flame into Fiendfyre, which burned hot enough to melt the Sands of Time. As she magically formed the crystal from the molten blob, she built in the syntax, the Incantations, the security features, and slowly, the white-hot material changed from a loose disc into a hexagonal bipyramid, solidifying slowly into a crystal that was a soft blue color. Before it could become completely solid, she added a small hole through the center of the crystal, coming down through the two outer points. Another whispered component of the complex set of charms and transfigurations spells caused the golden chain to thread itself through the hole, fixing the crystal in place in the center of the chain. 

With a blinding flash, it was finished. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

_Saturday 09 October 2004_  

It had been nearly four months since her conversation with Minerva following the unwelcome proposal, and Hermione was ready to test her invention for the first time. She’d arranged with Mr. Catalpa to have a Saturday off from her Ministry job in order to have this important first test. In a joint meeting with Master Piliwickle and Mistress O’Neill, they had decided that given its shape, and the fact that it no longer required any turns to work, they would call it a Time Crystal rather than Time-Turner. 

The syntax for the Incantations had been written in the format of “Specific Location. Time. Date, Year. _Ausafr!_ ” For her first test, they agreed that she should attempt to go back only one hour, to a secured location. To prevent skewing of results from foreknowledge, Master Piliwickle was sent ahead to the destination with a Mediwizard, and Mistress O’Neill was with Hermione. 

As confident as Hermione was in her abilities and in the work she’d done, she was still a little nervous about the test. Samantha was holding Hermione’s hands, reminding her to breathe, assuring her student that her work was solid, and there would be no problems. Hermione looked up into her mentor’s shining blue eyes, and caught the sly wink thrown her way, calming down immediately. 

She stood up, ready to prove that she was every bit as brilliant as everyone claimed she was. Holding her wand in one hand, tightly gripping the crystal where it hung from the thin golden chain around her neck in the other, she clearly stated the location where Preston was waiting for her, the time as it was an hour ago, and the day’s date. With a shouted _Ausafr_ , Hermione disappeared without a sound. 

An hour earlier, she appeared quietly in front of her Transfiguration Master and the Mediwizard he’d brought in. The Mediwizard, Healer Abstemious White, checked Hermione over carefully and found no adverse effects from the jump. The tattoo had appeared on her left arm, just above the elbow. The crystal was nestled on the inside of her elbow, in the crook of her arm, and the chain wound artfully around her upper arm. Hermione spoke the return incantation, and was met an hour later by both of her Masters and Healer White, who again checked but found that no negative impact had been made. 

With the Healer’s assessment having been made, there was a happy celebration as the first test was deemed a success. 

Over the next three months, Hermione tested the Crystal over longer and longer jumps, finding that the tattoo never moved, no matter how many trips she made. She never had any sort of reaction to a jump, even when she briefly popped in to an empty Grimmauld Place fifteen years back. She’d stayed there only a few minutes, not wanting to be seen by Kreacher or the portrait of Sirius’ mum. 

Finally, just before Christmas, the Time Crystal was hailed as a complete success, and Transfiguration Master Preston Piliwickle and Charms Mistress Samantha O’Neill were both delighted to present Hermione with her certificates, fully qualifying her as a Mistress of both subjects. 

Hermione was pleased with the accomplishment, and now that she knew she could get back to get what she needed, she was ready to do so. Sally-Anne’s Locator Charm had been a success as well, so all she needed was to make the jump, get the hair, and come back. She had a week and a half until Christmas, and she thought she had the best Christmas present she could ever give to Minerva: Morgan. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione was making her last-minute preparations to go meet the mysterious Morgan Stewart. In the six months since setting herself on this course, Hermione had subtly worked some details out of Minerva in their meetings. She knew that the first time Minerva and Morgan met, it had been the day after Minerva’s twenty-first birthday, and she’d been in Hogsmeade to meet her brothers for a birthday celebration. Minerva had smiled sadly when she said she had been supposed to meet them at one-thirty that afternoon, but that as usual, the boys had been late and that’s when she’d met Morgan and changed her life. 

Hermione had done extensive research on fashions of the day, and had transfigured some of her old school robes into something that wouldn’t look out of place, but would still be comfortable to wear. She’d decided to fix her hair in a simple bun, low on the back of her head, but with a few pieces left loose in the front to artfully arrange to soften the look. 

At the last minute, she thought about the paradox that could be created by showing up out of her own time, and employed a few good glamours. She changed the color of her hair from brown to the strange mixture of red and blonde that she remembered having seen on the witch in the bookshop, loosening her curls just a bit, but mostly leaving the texture of her hair alone. She altered the shape of her eyes, tilting the outer corners up just a touch; it was enough to make a difference, but not enough to give the impression of being a different nationality. The point was to blend in, not to stand out. 

Deciding that the risks of changing one’s eye color wasn’t worth the further camouflage it would provide, she left her eyes brown. In a final touch, she lengthened her nose by just a centimeter or two, giving it a perky upturn that made her look distinguished, but not snobby. Height, weight, and body shape were common enough amongst witches that she didn’t bother to try and conceal that part of her, thinking the changes to her face would be enough. 

The last thing she needed to do was devise a way to talk to Morgan before she met Minerva that day so she could surreptitiously get ahold of a hair or two – hopefully voluntarily – and for that, she pulled out a pristine piece of parchment, and using her best quill, penned a short note, which she would send via owl from the Hogsmeade post office when she arrived. 

_“Miss Morgan Stewart,_

_I know you don't know me, but I would appreciate if you could meet me at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade at one o'clock this afternoon to discuss a mutual friend. Many thanks._

_H.G.”_  

Hoping that the initials wouldn’t give anything away if Minerva ever saw the note, she folded the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of her robe before donning the cloak she thought she might need for a Scotland October. 

She hadn’t had much need to use the Apple-wood wand she’d gotten from Mr. Ollivander before she came back to finish her career at Hogwarts, and decided it would do nicely for this trip. 

Her glamours in place, her transfigured clothing on, and the note tucked safely into her pocket, she pulled out the Apple wand and gripped it in her dominant right hand. She reached up with the left to tuck the Time Crystal into its palm. Swallowing nervously, she breathed in and incanted, “Outside the Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Noon. The Fifth of October, Nineteen Forty-Six. _Ausafr!_ ” 

Her flat was left empty, and she appeared at exactly noon on the specified day, next to the front door of Hogsmeade’s Wizarding pub, just as expected. 

What she didn’t expect was the rush of weakness that washed over her, just as it had when she’d unwisely apparated thousands of miles over the recommended distance all those years ago. 

“Shite,” she whispered as she fell to the ground in a dead faint, her head cracking on the stone steps leading into the pub. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hexagonal Bipyramid: Two eight-sided pyramids, stuck together at the bases. Basically, imagine the PlumbBob from the Sims, only shorter and a bit wider around.
> 
> Sorry for putting so much of this in exposition, but I tried to keep the process intact without delving too deeply into the conversations responsible for each individual breakthrough. I've tried to keep as much of the magical theory I've concocted in here as possible, but it would have taken too much time to write out each conversation and realization in real-time, so I've glossed over what I could, leaving in the really important bits. I hope it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> If you're interested in some visual references, check out hollibee dot com slash pics slash swtt dot html. There are pictures of the red-headed witch's hair, as well as Mistress Samantha O'Neill, and some other spoilery references as well. (There are further chapters of this fic up on fanfiction dot net, though it is not yet completed, and some of the references there are from future chapters.)
> 
> One last item to be addressed: Minerva's age. The HP Lexicon has Minerva's birth year as 1925, and I hold to that. With the addition of the biography on Pottermore, it seems as though Jo meant for her to actually have been born in 1935, but I've always thought of Minerva as having been a peer of Tom Riddle, and a 1925 birth puts her one year above him in school, and Head Girl the year before he was Head Boy. It has her leaving Hogwarts in 1943, and able to therefore help in the end of the fight against Grindelwald, which I've always had in my headcanon. Yes, this makes her another decade older than Hermione, but with the Wizarding world aging the way they do in my world, it doesn't matter that much. So in this fic (and in all of my fics), she was born in 1925, not 1935, making her age 21 in 1946. The rest of what I've changed in her past will be explained as the story continues.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Yep. Hell of a cliffhanger. I know. You all hate me now, don’t you? I’m sorry! 
> 
> In preparation, Mairead is pronounced “mah RAYD”, which rhymes with “parade”, and is the Gaelic form of Margaret. 
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione woke an hour later lying on a cot in the back room of the Three Broomsticks, being attended by a woman she didn’t know. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and had long, wispy blonde hair, kind violet eyes, and a perfectly bow-shaped mouth. “There, there, lass. Glad to see you're finally awake, Miss Stewart.” 

Hermione tried to speak, but found that she couldn't. “Oh, don't try to talk yet, Miss. We had a Healer around and he said this happens sometimes after a long-distance apparition. You must have come from very far indeed. My name is Mairead, and I run the Three Broomsticks. You'll pardon us, but we looked in your pockets for identification, found a letter, and have been referring to you by the name we found there.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “Oh dear, it's a quarter past one. You've missed your meeting. I don't know who this HG is, but I expect they can reschedule.” 

She looked at the bartender oddly, not knowing who Miss Stewart or HG were. Mairead pressed the letter into Hermione's hand, along with her wand. She looked down at the unfamiliar items. She tried again to say something, but was still unable to make even a small sound. 

Mairead made a tutting sound. “None of that, now. If you're so desperate to say something, I'll bring you a pen and paper, but the Healer said no talking for another half-hour if this happened.” Hermione nodded. “Oh, aye. I'll bring it in a moment, but I need to check on my customers first. Back in a tick, lovey.” 

With a swish, Mairead left Hermione alone in the small room. Slowly, Hermione sat up, reaching back to press her hand to the tenderness at the crown of her head. Pain exploded outward from the spot, causing black stars to appear behind her eyelids. _Right. Don’t do that again._ She waited for a minute before opening her eyes again, and when she found that it no longer hurt to use them, she took the opportunity to look around the room in which she’d been placed. 

It wasn’t very large, but was mostly filled with crates and barrels, and smelled of wood, straw, and alcohol. She was seated on a cot set between a stack of two ale barrels on one side and a short side-table with a lantern brightly flickering on the other. She was facing an open door-frame, halfway between sitting and lying down. She finished sitting up, and reached around to prop the heavy down-filled pillow against the wall, scooting backward to recline against it with her legs outstretched under a blanket in front of her. 

Upright and comfortable, Hermione took stock of herself. Her hair had come loose from its bun, likely when the Healer had examined her, and she didn’t put it back up, fearing pain from the pressure of pulling against her bruised scalp. She did silently cast a detangling spell, causing her hair to fall around her face in gentle curls, feeling better for looking presentable. She picked up the letter the blonde woman had given her and read through it several times, trying to make sense of it. Was she this Miss Stewart, as the other woman had called her? Was she the mysterious HG? Who was the friend mentioned? She couldn’t remember a thing apart from a wide variety of spells and charms. 

Mairead had been gone for about ten minutes when a little girl toddled into the room and crawled up on the cot with Hermione. She was a beauty of a baby with lovely blonde curls and bright blue eyes. She looked Hermione over and pressed her small hand against the silent witch’s cheek. Still unable to speak, Hermione decided to entertain the toddler. With her right hand, she gripped the wand that had been given to her, and she cast a few charms non-verbally, making the wand spout pastel-colored stars and butterflies from its tip. The child giggled at first, but was soon bored. Changing her tactics, Hermione started making funny faces of all sorts, crossing her eyes and uncrossing them, then twisting her features into comical shapes, getting a bit of help from her wand, unconsciously mimicking the antics with which Tonks used to entertain her and her friends. 

It was a fair bit of transfiguration, but the little girl was having so much fun with it, and the laughter was infectious. Hermione soon found that she was laughing along, not at all realizing that sound was once again leaving her throat. 

While all this had been going on, Minerva McGonagall had arrived at the pub to meet her brothers for her birthday. Since the boys were running late, as usual, Mairead had asked her for a favor. “Do you think you could track down Rosie for me? She’s gotten away from me again, and I’m running a bit behind.” 

“Certainly, Madam Mairead. As I was supposed to have met my brothers at one-thirty, I suspect it’ll be closer to two-thirty before they arrive.” Her lips quirked to the side in a slight smile, and the two women shared a short laugh before Minerva set out to track down three-year old Rosmerta. 

Following the sound of laughter, she was surprised to see the focus of her search sitting on the lap of a strange woman. She watched them in silence for several minutes, leaning against the door frame, impressed with the magic the young woman was doing, especially as it seemed she was doing it all non-verbally. Minerva was mesmerized by the sound of the red-head’s laughter, and it was making her feel uncomfortable in a strange way. 

“Miss Stewart?” Mairead's voice came from behind Minerva, causing her to stiffen and stand with perfect posture, as her father had always taught her. “Oh, Miss McGonagall, have you located Rosie yet?” 

Minerva turned to face the barkeep, “Yes, Madam, she's in here with – did you say Miss Stewart? They seem to be getting along famously.” 

Hermione stopped her antics, replacing a yellow-orange bird's beak with her own mouth, and stared up at the black-haired witch. Her eyes widened. The woman in the doorway was beautiful, and another twinge of memory came back, insisting that she liked women and this one was quite desirable. She smiled at Minerva, with a look that she somehow knew was a quiet seductress; a smile and look that she used to feel out whether a woman would be receptive to her advances. 

Her heavily lidded eyes raked down the standing body, starting with the long black hair, tied into a loose braid that had swung to half-way down her back when she’d turned to talk to the innkeeper. Brilliant deep green eyes met her gaze straight-on, and her perusal stopped its course for a second before tearing away to brush over thin lips, and down past the alabaster skin of her neck to the light-weight black and blue robes she wore. 

The robes were tightly fitted in the bodice and came up to a high collar, then down to long sleeves. Hermione took a moment to visually appreciate what she could see was lying underneath those fitted robes, and could almost see the tender skin tightening up through the fabric. The skirt flowed generously below the waist and fell to nearly meet the floor, shiny black boots peeking out from beneath the hem. She wished she could see the legs that she just knew were quite shapely, but the loose skirt hid them well. She glanced upward again, and saw breath hitch in Minerva’s chest as she passed back over perfect breasts and came back to rest at the sea of green waiting in a flushed face. 

_Oh yes. She’s receptive. She may not know it yet, but she definitely is._ Her tongue darted out to moisten lips that were suddenly parched, and she could feel the other woman’s eyes as they were drawn to look. 

Minerva stood still in the doorway, finding it hard to breathe as this woman on the bed took huge visual liberties with her person. She met the honey-colored gaze, astonished at the depths she could see into Hermione’s soul. There were tingles wherever the eyes moved, and Minerva was disturbed to feel her nipples stiffening from no more than a look. There was an uncomfortable feeling building in the pit of her belly, and her temperature was quickly rising. She wasn’t sure what was going on; the only time she’d ever felt anything remotely like this was when she’d received Dougal’s proposal three years earlier. Surely she couldn’t be feeling anything like that desire over a woman, could she? The feelings got more intense as the tingles passed back over her breasts, and she gasped, her eyes drawn back to pink lips as a tongue flicked out for a second. 

“Oh.” Fell from Hermione’s lips, and she was surprised to hear the noise coming from her throat finally, not realizing it was a pitch lower than normal and husky from temporary damage of the Time Crystal. “I can speak again! Excellent. Though I can’t remember it, I’m told my name is Stewart.” She decided to go with being Morgan Stewart rather than the initialed sender of the note. If she’d been planning to send the note, why would she have chosen to do it so close to the proposed meeting time? It made more sense for her to have been the recipient. “Morgan Stewart.” She stashed her wand under her thigh and reached her hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?” 

Social niceties took over and the flush began to recede as Minerva stepped forward and reached her own hand out to shake the outstretched one. “Minerva McGonagall. The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure.” The two women gently shook once, twice, three times, and their hands were released. “You can't remember your name?” 

“No, nor anything else, apparently.” Morgan felt like it should bother her more than it was that she couldn’t remember. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was screaming against modified or missing memories, but she calmed the screaming voice by thinking that if she hadn’t had these injuries, she wouldn’t have met this beautiful and charming (and receptive!) witch, and that would have been the bigger tragedy. She assured the screaming voice that her memories would come back eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later. 

At this statement, Mairead squeezed past Minerva to come back into the room. She bent down and scooped up her giggling daughter, who settled her head against her mother’s breast, resting on her hip, safe and warm in Mairead’s embrace. “You can’t remember who you are?” The blonde innkeeper inquired with worry in her voice. “Oh dear, mayhap we should get the Healer back. ‘Tis an awful thing to lose sight of who you are.” 

She turned to face Minerva. “Could you go and fetch Healer Clark? He’s the elderly gentleman sitting near the fireplace with a dreadful purple cap.” 

“Of course, Madam. I won’t be a moment.” Minerva ducked back through the door and set out for the main room of the inn for the Healer. _What in the world was that?_ She was still feeling a tingle low in her belly, and wanted nothing in the world so much as she wanted the sensation of the red-head’s lips against her own. She’d only ever kissed Dougal when they were courting the summer after she left Hogwarts, and then only a couple of times. His lips had been cool and dry against hers, and his beard had scratched against her cheek in a way she hadn’t liked much. She hadn’t seen where the appeal had lain, but she couldn’t stop imagining what _her_ smooth cheeks and full lips would feel like moving against her own. _This is an unnatural and wrong line of thought, Minerva McGonagall. Girls aren’t meant to kiss other girls like that._ But if that were true, what had that look been about? 

She reached the main room and located the elderly man in the ghastly purple cap. She leaned down and asked, “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Madam Òstairean is asking for you in the back room.” 

“Certainly. I suppose the patient has woken up.” He downed the rest of his pint of ale in two gulps before pushing away from the table and standing. Minerva scanned the room, but didn’t see any signs of her brothers, so she chose to follow the Healer back to make sure the stranger was going to be fine. 

He checked Morgan out, feeling around the sore spot on her head with his fingers, and casting several diagnostic spells. “You seem to be quite healthy. Your magical reserves are pretty depleted, which I suspect is from a long-distance apparition. The amnesia likely stems from the head wound, and should clear itself up within a day or so. I see no signs of any fractures to your skull, but you’ll want to keep an eye out for bleeding or clear fluids leaking from your nose or ears, or a coppery taste in your mouth, which could indicate delayed bleeding in your brain. You’ll probably have a headache for a couple of days, and that’s perfectly normal, but if you show any signs of extreme fatigue or confusion, or if you become nauseated or vomit, or if you do start to leak fluids, either clear or bloody, from any orifice on your head, send for me or another Healer right away. 

“I don’t foresee any of these complications, but you should probably not be left alone tonight, just on the off-chance that something happens.” He looked at the room’s other occupants. “Can either of you watch over her tonight? I would ask her to stay with a friend or family member, but as she can’t remember anything of who she is, it wouldn’t do much good.” 

“I can provide her with a room for a couple nights,” Mairead spoke up, “but between running this place and trying to keep up with Rosie, I can’t sit with her. I may be able to find someone who can.” 

Minerva was thinking about meeting her brothers, but had nothing else planned for the weekend other than catching up on her reading, which she could do while keeping watch over the mysterious witch. Hopefully it would allow them to get to know each other better at the same time. 

“I can do it. I have to meet with Malcolm and Rob whenever they decide to grace me with their presence, but that shouldn’t take more than an hour or so, and after that, I can stay with her.” Her soft voice struck a chord in Morgan’s heart, who was wondering if it was wise to accept the offer, but not having any other option. 

“Well then, it’s all settled,” Healer Clark put the matter to rest, accepting for her. 

“My thanks to all of you. You’re all being so kind to someone you never met before today.” Morgan felt incredibly grateful. “I don’t seem to have any money with me, but as soon as my brain sorts itself out and I’m able to access my funds, I will be sure to pay my debts.” 

“No need, dear one. I usually have a spare room or two upstairs, so you’re not costing me a thing.” Mairead smiled down at Morgan kindly, hugging Baby Rosmerta closer. A shout rang out from the front room, and a grimace replaced the smile. “I’d better get back out there. It’s a student weekend, and my part time helper will be swamped with the invasion.” 

“I could keep Rosie if you want.” Morgan surprised herself with the offer. 

The kind smile returned to Mairead’s face. “Thank you, but no, she’ll be fine in there with me. You need your rest, dear one. If you need anything, you know where I’ll be.” She ran her hand over Morgan’s head, then turned and hurried back to mind the bar. 

“I should be going as well. Mairead knows how to get in touch with me if anything happens.” He looked at Morgan and Minerva both, and Minerva nodded curtly. 

“I shall make sure to send for you right away if anything happens,” she promised. 

“Very good.” He turned back to Morgan. “Whenever you feel up to it, you may get up, but take things easy, and if you get at all dizzy, sit down immediately and let it pass. If the dizziness does not pass, send for me. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.” 

“Thank you again, sir. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” 

“Of course, of course. It’s nothing. I’ll see you in the morning.” He touched a hand to his purple cap, making the puffy point dangle over his ear, then turned and left the two young witches alone. 

There was an awkward silence in the room for a moment before Minerva broke it by asking, “Did you want to try and get up? Being trapped in bed for so long would make me crazy.” 

“Oh. Sure. I’m certainly not used to being still this long.” Morgan pushed the blanket back, revealing a glimpse of her legs, covered in black tights, before she smoothed her skirt back down to cover them. She swung her legs over the edge of the cot, and Minerva reached out to offer a steadying hand as she stood. Morgan stumbled lightly, gripping tightly to the proffered hand, a wave of light dizziness washing over her before dissipating. 

“Are you alright?” Minerva’s face and voice both showed worry when Morgan stumbled. She quite liked the feel of the older witch’s hand in hers, although she knew it was completely inappropriate to think of that when the woman was in distress. 

“Yes, I think I’ll be fine now. The dizziness has passed.” She flashed a brilliant smile at the dark-haired woman, not letting go of her hand. She didn’t want the contact to end, but knew it must. She squeezed Minerva’s hand lightly before releasing it. With a couple quick movements of her wand, the cot was folded up and neatly put away. She tucked her letter back into the pocket of her outer robe, and slid her wand back into its sheath at her waist. She was at a loss as to what to do next. 

“I need to go and see if my brothers are here yet. Would you like to walk with me? I’m sure they would be delighted to meet you, though I’ll warn you that they’re both teenage boys, and rambunctious ones at that.” Minerva smiled as she made the offer, knowing Morgan wouldn’t have anything else to do, and wanting to spend more time with her. 

“Thank you, that sounds lovely.” Morgan gratefully accepted, and the two witches left the back room, walking slowly to be sure Morgan didn’t have a relapse. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

They had a lovely afternoon. When they’d come out of the back room, Malcom and Rob had been sitting down with a drink, but stood immediately when the two women approached their table. 

Seventeen-year-old Ravenclaw Malcolm and Fifteen-year-old Slytherin Robert Junior, called Rob for short, were all politeness and manners, both trying desperately to impress Morgan, but getting nowhere in the end with her, assuming she was spoken for by another fellow her own age. Neither of them noticed the surreptitious glances that Morgan and Minerva threw at each other when they didn’t think the other was looking. Morgan kept finding ways to brush her hand or arm against Minerva’s, feeling like it was something that had once been done to her, pleasantly surprised when she found the gestures were being returned. 

The four of them wandered around the village for a while, until it was time for the boys to head back up to school. Morgan had no memory of having attended Hogwarts, but felt very nostalgic when they reached the open gates, her hand mindlessly drifting over the cold iron bars fondly. 

A piece of a memory surfaced at the touch, of being alone in the cold dark; another of waiting for someone here with heartbreak bubbling through her mental shields. This was a very important place for her, but she couldn’t remember why. A gentle hand on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. “Are you okay, Morgan?” Minerva’s voice was low and quiet and very soothing. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Morgan let go of the gate, turning to smile sadly at her new friend. The hand on her shoulder slid down her arm to rest at the wrist. 

“Malcolm and Rob went back up. You looked a bit lost for a moment, and they didn’t want to disturb you. Are you sure you’re well? No dizziness or anything?” Minerva’s voice was rife with concern. She hadn’t known Morgan very long, but she already cared for the other woman. 

“No,” she slipped her wrist through the hand holding it and dared to turn her own hand inside its grip, twining their fingers together tightly. “No dizziness. Just a flash of a memory having to do with the gates and waiting here for someone.” She was surprised when the hand-holding wasn’t rejected. Instead, Minerva tightened her own hold on Morgan’s hand. 

“It must be incredibly frustrating to have your whole life wiped out like that,” Minerva shuddered lightly. “I can’t even imagine it.” 

“It’s not the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but somehow I doubt it’s the worst, either.” Her brow furrowed at another half-remembered set of memories. “Was there a war or something like it recently? I have these impressions of times much worse than a day or two spent not remembering.” 

“Aye, there was a war. We had one here in the Wizarding world, and there was one going in the Muggle world at the same time. It all only ended last year. It was a pretty grim time, and I suspect you’re right that there are things in war that are far worse than a lacking memory.” Minerva answered darkly, remembering the year she spent fighting with the resistance. 

“War brings out the best and worst in people.” Morgan couldn’t remember where the quote came from, but felt it was eerily applicative. 

“Aye.” They stood there, both lost in thought, both forgetting that they were holding hands. Morgan’s thumb was lightly brushing over the back of Minerva’s where they met. The sun was beginning to sink below the trees, and it would soon be dark. 

“We should get back to the inn,” Morgan said softly, breaking the moment. The gamekeeper, Ogg, could be seen coming to ensure the gates were properly closed up after the students’ return from Hogsmeade. 

Minerva squeezed the hand in hers. “We should.” Not letting go, she turned to face away from the gates, and together, hands still tightly clasped together between them, they slowly made their way back down toward town and the Three Broomsticks. 

When they reached the front door, Morgan regretfully let Minerva’s hand go, and they shared a brief look of longing before going inside. 

Mairead was happy to see them back before nightfall, and set them each up with a plate of a thick stew, a rustic hunk of warm bread, and a pint of ale for their supper before sending them up to ensure the room would be satisfactory. 

Morgan didn’t know why there would be a problem until she walked through the door. The room was smallish, and was dominated by a double bed in the center of the far wall. She stopped in her tracks, the unexpected maneuver causing Minerva to bump into her back with a soft exclamation. “What in the…?” The taller witch muttered before seeing the bed. “Oh.” 

Morgan took a couple steps forward and to the side, allowing Minerva to finish entering the room and close the door behind them. “Will that be a problem for you? I could probably split it and make the two halves into singles, but …” 

Minerva cut her off with a whispered, “No,” pausing for a second. “It won’t be a problem. I’ve had to share before, and smaller than that. War makes many things necessary.” She didn’t add that she’d only had to share a cot once. They’d both been exhausted and filthy following Grindelwald’s final arrest, and had slept with their heads at opposite ends. She’d never considered having to be thankful for an old man’s obsession with clean socks before that night. 

Morgan sensed the truth behind her words, but with the chemistry and touches that had been flying between them all afternoon, she didn’t know if she could trust herself. She also didn’t want to pass up this chance to sleep beside her soft warmth. “If you’re sure, then.” 

“I’m sure.” Minerva smiled shyly. “I’m just going to pop back to my flat and pick up a few things for the night. I’ll be back soon.” She turned around to exit the room, missing the bereft look Morgan shot her way. 

The door closed behind her, and Morgan was again left alone with her thoughts and not much more. Having nothing better to do, she removed her outer robe, hanging it on one of the pegs beside the door, and began inspecting the room. She pulled back the blanket and found that while clean, the sheets were made of some subpar cloth, so she transfigured them into the cool soft cotton she preferred. The thin blanket was changed into a thick, cushy quilt. The pillows were fine, but got a quick fluff the Muggle way, and she conjured up a small vial of essential oils, combining lemon and a couple earthy herbal scents, and sprinkled a couple drops on each pillow, making them smell nice. Vanishing the leftovers, she made the bed back up, turning down the quilt, and was about to go back downstairs to ask Mairead if she had any books when the door opened and Minerva swept back in with a large carpetbag in hand. 

“I’m back!” She announced, closing the door behind her and setting the bag down on the end of the bed. “I brought a spare nightgown for you, and some books and things to help keep us occupied until we’re ready to sleep.” Minerva was bustling about industriously, removing her cloak and outer robe and hanging them beside Morgan’s on the pegs. She opened the bag, pulling out two long white nightgowns, both with long sleeves and high necklines, very modest. These she laid on the end of the bed, before delving back into the bag and pulling out a selection of books. She looked around, but couldn’t see anywhere to set them. 

Seeing the problem, Morgan unsheathed her wand again and quickly conjured up a small wooden table and two chairs, placing them in the corner beneath one of the hanging lanterns. She sheathed her wand and went back to straightening the quilt, unaware that Minerva was watching her intensely. Conjuration was a very advanced part of her Transfiguration courses, and one she had not reached yet at the start of her second year as an Apprentice. Yet Morgan had just done it without thinking or hesitating. _She must be at least in her fourth year of a Transfiguration Mastery to conjure something so easily, and non-verbally!_ “I’m impressed. Not many could conjure such a beautiful table and chairs with so little effort.” She set the stack of books on top of the table, admiring the polished patina of the dark wood, noticing intricate filigreed patterns along the rim of the table and along the back and sides of the chairs, which also had soft cushions on the seats. 

“Hmm?” Morgan looked up. “Oh, I don’t know. I can’t remember anything of myself or my history, but I seem to remember every spell and charm I’ve ever learned.” She shrugged off the compliment. “It’s not much, and you needed somewhere to put the books.” 

“It may not be much to you, but I couldn’t conjure any of it, much less anything so detailed and beautiful, so I’ll remain impressed with your abilities.” Minerva sounded indignant that someone could be so casual about being able to do such advanced magic. 

Morgan laughed lightly, “Be impressed then. I feel certain that I wasn’t always nearly such an impressive person, but it’s nice to be able to surprise someone.” 

Minerva got over her indignation quickly, and the two settled into the comfortable chairs Morgan had conjured, reading from the book selection, and discussing their reading periodically. Mairead came up to check on them once, surprised to see the table and chairs, but thinking they made a nice addition to the room. She brought them a bottle of the slightly-alcoholic Gillywater that was favored by young witches at that time and a couple of glasses. After ensuring that neither of them needed anything else, she took her leave for the night, saying she needed to get Rosie down. 

They shared a couple of glasses of the teal-colored drink, Morgan enjoying the combination of raspberry and coconut flavors, not remembering if she’d ever had Gillywater before. There wasn’t much alcohol in the drink, but it loosened them up just a bit, getting rid of the last bit of residual tension caused by their mutual attraction and the knowledge that they would shortly be sharing a bed. 

When the time came for them to sleep, Morgan got up first, going down the hall to the restroom shared by all the rooms on this floor to relieve herself and wash her face. She took the old-fashioned nightgown with her, but after slipping into it, a look into the long mirror made her laugh loudly. The sleeves came down a normal length, but then had another three inches of lace for a cuff that completely covered her hands. The neckline was so high and tight that it brushed uncomfortably around her neck, and the hem dragged the floor, a good four inches too long. 

Pulling out her wand yet again, she removed the lace from the cuffs, and shortened the sleeves to just above her elbow. She opened the neck so that it wasn’t so tight, and lowered it to halfway between the base of her neck and the tops of her breasts. As for the length, she brought it up to mid-thigh, and picked up the tights from her own clothes, transfiguring them into loose cotton pajama bottoms, slipping them on under the shortened nightgown. 

She turned her skirt into a bathrobe, slipping it over the modified nightwear and going back to their room. Minerva had taken advantage of being alone in the room to slip into her own unmodified gown, and Morgan smirked when she noticed the lacy hemline just brushing the taller witch’s feet. However, she was still beautiful, even locked behind the restrictive collar and long sleeves. Morgan stashed her pile of clothing on the chair she’d been using, and removed the transfigured robe, hanging it on one of the pegs. She noticed Minerva had done the same with her clothes, the carpetbag having been tucked under the chair. 

She was still carrying her wand, and began looking for a place to put it while she slept. Not seeing anywhere convenient, she conjured up a small nightstand, and placed her glass on it, conjuring up some cold water with a silent _Aguamenti_ and filling the glass with it. 

“Do you suppose I could get one of those tables on this side? I haven’t made it that far into my conjuration studies yet.” Minerva’s soft voice asked shyly from the left side of the bed where she’d been getting ready. 

“Oh, of course. Sorry I didn’t think about it before.” She quickly did as she was asked, summoning the other glass and filling it with cold water as well, before sending it to the other table. 

“Thanks. I, uh, like the changes you made to your clothes. It looks much more you than what I have on.” Minerva placed her wand on the table and sat on the edge of the bed, on top of the quilt. 

“You think so?” She glanced back down over the outfit. “I’ve never been one for restrictive sleepwear, or at least I don’t think I have.” Morgan cast a quick detangling spell on her hair before setting her wand on the table. She reached up and quickly braided her hair, magically tying it off when she reached the bottom. Minerva’s hair was in a similar plait, but secured with a bit of white ribbon. 

Reaching down to pull the quilt back, Morgan got into the bed, tucking her feet just under the edge of the covers, her knees pulled up in front of her, as she leaned back against the headboard. She was nervous about what she might do while they slept, hoping she would be able to keep her distance and not make Minerva uncomfortable. She was ridiculously attracted to the younger witch, and didn’t want to mess things up by moving too fast. 

“I’ve not thought about it much, but the collar may be a little tight at that.” Minerva smiled, and stood to pull the covers back on her side of the bed, lying down on her left side to face Morgan’s side of the bed, tugging the quilt up to rest just below the bottom of her ribs. Morgan slid down into the bed, and turned to face Minerva, her left hand reaching for the tight collar. She ran her fingers along the top hem, magically lengthening the fabric, her fingers warm as they glided also across the skin of Minerva’s neck, able to feel the quickening pulse under her touch. 

The gentle caress was making Minerva’s belly tingle again, as it had when Morgan’s eyes had devoured her body earlier in the day. Her breaths were shortening, her pulse was racing, and as she stared into the brown eyes across from her own, she could see them darkening, the pupils growing larger, unaware that hers were doing the same thing. She reached a hand up to grab Morgan’s hand, halting the progress of the fingers on her neck. She croaked out a whisper, “Why does it feel like that when you touch me? I’ve never felt like this before, and it’s scaring me.” 

“What does it feel like?” Morgan eased her head forward on the pillow, slowly bringing it closer to Minerva’s. 

“You make me feel hot and cold at the same time. I feel like I’m on the edge of a great cliff, and if you but asked me, I would jump off and fall to my death. If only you asked. My heart is pounding, I find it hard to breathe, and if you stopped touching me, I feel as though I would die on the spot. Either way, I feel like my death is imminent, but _I don’t care_.” Her eyes closed, unable to maintain the contact, and a tear fell from the corner of her eye to fall across her cheek before being absorbed into the pillow beneath her head. “I should care, but I don’t. How is this possible? You’re a _girl_.” 

“I am. I can’t change that, Min.” Morgan moved her hand up to cup a soft cheek, brushing her thumb along the closed eyelid with its impossibly long lashes. Minerva was still holding to that hand, and when Morgan’s head pressed against her own, their foreheads meeting, she let go of it and reached over to cradle the red-head’s cheek. 

“I can’t change that I’m a girl, and I can’t change that I like women romantically,” Morgan whispered, her breath warm as she spoke, her eyes closing, “and I can’t change the fact that I’m attracted to you. You’re beautiful, and you’re smart, and you’re incredibly kind. You shared your family-time today with a complete stranger, and have given up your own plans for the night to stay with me. From what you’ve just told me, it seems like you feel the same attraction to me, and I would really like to test the theory by kissing you, but I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” She opened her eyes just as Minerva did the same, and shining brown met brilliant green in an intensely intimate gaze. 

“I’ve never felt anything like this for a girl, and it’s confusing, but,” Minerva paused to swallow nervously, “I think I’d like to try.” She started angling her head closer, and as her nose brushed against Morgan’s, green eyes closed again, followed quickly by brown, and then their lips met. They were still for a moment, and then Morgan started to move her lips across Minerva’s. Her hand slid back from soft cheek to tangle in the strands of a coal-black braid. 

Minerva’s hand followed suit, her lips on fire where they were being gently caressed. She felt a nip at her bottom lip, and parted her tingling lips, allowing the more experienced witch to deepen the kiss, softly gliding her tongue along her own, feeling the flames ignite with every touch, hesitantly meeting the movements, growing bolder with every thrust. 

She was thrown off-balance when she felt Morgan pull back, ending the contact. Her eyes fluttered open to search the face in front of her, breathing erratically. She could see Morgan’s chest heaving as well. She licked at her swollen lips reflexively, noticing the red-head doing the same. “Well?” The husky voice came out of nowhere. 

“Well what?” Minerva asked, confused and unable to think properly. That had been some kiss. 

“You said you wanted to try it,” Morgan explained, her eyes fixated on Minerva’s thin lips, made plump by her kiss. “What did you think? Better or worse than you thought?” 

“Oh,” Minerva found herself blushing. “Better. Much better.” She breathed out, “I think it was perfect.” 

“So do I.” Morgan couldn’t remember her past, but she felt like that sweet, gentle kiss had been the one she’d been waiting for her entire life. “Nobody else will ever live up to that kiss, Min. I think you’ve quite ruined me for other people.” 

Minerva liked knowing that she hadn’t been the only one so affected, but she frowned slightly at part of what had been said. “I don’t normally allow anyone to shorten my name.” 

“Do you really mind, Min?” Morgan liked the spots of color that rose on her bed-partner’s face as she used the nick-name again, and vowed to never use her full name when they were alone ever again. 

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, flummoxed by the question. “I … no. For you, I don’t think I do.” She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Morgan’s cheek, pleased to see the smile disappear when she brought her head back. 

“Good, for I’ll never call you anything else.” She trailed her hand across Minerva’s cheek before running it down the arm leading to where the other woman’s hand was still tightly gripping her hair, pulling it free before placing a kiss into its palm and releasing it back to its owner. “I think it’s time for some sleep now, don’t you?” She turned onto her back, settling into her pillow. 

Minerva was confused, but did agree that she needed to sleep. It was just such an abrupt change. Was she supposed to turn her back to Morgan and ignore her for the rest of the night? Supposed to stay as she was? She heard Morgan whisper, “ _Nox_ ,” at the lanterns, darkening the room before whispering again, “Come here.” 

Minerva slid closer to the shorter witch and felt as a strong right arm wrapped around her own shoulders, snuggling them together. She laid her head on a shoulder, draping her arm across the slim waist, reaching to weave their hands together. Morgan’s right hand began caressing her side, running gently up and down along her ribs, barely touching, but comforting with the contact. 

Tucking her head into the hollow of Morgan’s neck, she could feel a kiss pressed against the top of her head, followed by the softness of a cheek in her hair. Lulled by the _thump-thump_ of Morgan’s heartbeat, and the gentle motions of her breathing, Minerva soon fell asleep. Morgan drifted off soon after, their hands still entwined. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Morgan woke late the next morning, and found herself alone. As she went to sit up, a wave of dizziness washed over her, bringing with it all of her memories. Her brain in shock as everything melded together, she fainted. 

Several minutes later, she woke again, her mind fully intact, having combined the memories of Hermione Granger and Morgan Stewart into one seamless stream of her life. _Oh. Oh god. I’m Morgan. I’ve made myself into Minerva’s Morgan._ Her eyes closed in a hard wince, thinking about the events of the previous day, whispering, “Oh fuck,” to herself. _I’ve really put myself in the shit this time. It’s not as though I’ve never imagined kissing Minerva before, but the reality was so much better than I’d ever thought, and oh god I apparently show up over and over again in the next sixty years, and I’m the love of her life and I cause her So. Much. Pain. What have I **done**?_  

Hermione reached for her wand, casting a spell to check her magic levels. _40-percent? I’ve never been this drained before._ A quick bit of math sketched in the air using magical script, much like the ones the Diary-Horcrux’s Tom Riddle had used to show Harry his name’s anagram, and Hermione closed her eyes again. It would take another two weeks to replenish her stores to be sure she safely made it back home. “Two weeks,” she said to herself, noting that her regular voice was back, and not the husky one she’d been forced into using the day before as Morgan. Luckily, she knew how to replicate the effects, as voice transfiguration had been part of her last year’s studies. 

She was exceedingly thankful that her glamours had stayed in place the whole time. However, she hadn’t planned for two weeks in 1946, and she hadn’t brought any spare clothes or money, and while Mairead had been very kind to offer her a room the night before, she couldn’t impose on her hospitality for that long. 

Hermione scrambled from the bed, transfiguring her clothes into something appropriate, and different from what she’d worn the day before. She undid her braid, fixing her hair back into the loose bun it had been in when she left 2004. She laid out the nightgown and undid all the changes she’d made to it, leaving it draped on the foot of the bed. 

She didn’t know what she was going to do about Minerva, about money, about a place to stay. For once, she had no contingency plans. While she certainly knew people who were alive in this time, none of them had the slightest idea who she was. Her parents wouldn’t be born for another few years, and how would she have explained that in the first place? Especially knowing how they would feel about her and magic in fifty years. 

She slumped into one of the chairs she’d conjured the night before, pouring half a glass of the Gillywater and gulping it down quickly. She could find the cave Sirius had used, perhaps. She had enough magical ability to make it livable, and she knew how and where to harvest wild food, thanks to her time on the run with Harry and Ron. She could make it two weeks like that if she needed to, but it didn’t solve the problem of what to do with Minerva. 

Unconsciously, her fingers reached up to trace her lips as she thought about Minerva and their kiss. _Gods, it was the perfect kiss._ She hadn’t truly known when it happened, but she’d told the absolute truth: That kiss had ruined her for anyone else. Which, when she thought about what she knew about the two of them from future-Minerva, was probably a good thing. _Who knew that my closest friend as an adult would end up being the love of my life? Minerva knew, of course, but she didn’t know it was me._ This would end up being the biggest secret she’d ever have to keep. 

Remembering a long-ago conversation regarding secrets in relationships, Hermione felt like crying. As far into the future as 2004, Minerva had no idea that Morgan and Hermione were the same person, and if she had sixty years of visits to make with this kind of downtime between trips, there was no way to know how long Hermione would be keeping the truth from her friend, and at some future point, lover. 

Hermione sat and worried for a while, then Minerva came back and solved all her problems. When she realized that Morgan had regained her memories, but still had nowhere to go until her magic was restored, she offered the spare room in her flat. Dumbledore was serving as her financial benefactor, much as Morgan had served as Hermione’s in the future, and once that realization hit her, it was all Hermione could do to not laugh. She’d paid for her own education and hadn’t even known it. 

Dumbledore was doing a bit more than Hermione had allowed Minerva to do, however, and was providing her with a place to live, as well as a monthly stipend so that she could concentrate on her education without having to work. She had a small two-bedroom flat in a quiet part of London, and the spare bedroom was barely used. 

Knowing that a relationship between them was, at this point, inevitable, Hermione graciously accepted the offer. The two women gathered up all their belongings and packed everything into the carpetbag Minerva had brought with her. Hermione vanished the additional furniture she’d conjured, and untransfigured the sheets and quilt, returning everything to its original state. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Over the next two weeks, their feelings grew stronger, and although they shared several kisses, both were reticent to move any further. Hermione because she was scared that she’d get back to her own time and mess it all up by saying or doing the wrong thing in front of future Minerva. Minerva was simply inexperienced, and in 1946, sexual relations before marriage were still frowned upon, and two women being together was simply not done. It was a lot for the freshly-turned twenty-one-year-old to get used to. 

She could feel her feelings growing for Morgan, though, and at a pace that scared her. She had never known that love could be like this, and though she didn’t know much about the world and love in general, she knew that’s what she was beginning to feel. She hoped Morgan felt the same way, but after that morning when she’d recovered her memories, she’d become a little more closed-off than the first day. 

Hermione was fighting with herself every day. She knew she was supposed to be Morgan, and she knew who Morgan was supposed to be, but was having trouble reconciling the two ideas. Finally, on the second Sunday of her stay in Minerva’s flat, she woke and cast the spell to test her magic level. It was up to a respectable eighty-five percent, which was more than enough to get her home. 

She should be ecstatic, but found that she was not. She was still conflicted. What if she got home and made some unwitting error, and ended up rewriting all of – not only Minerva’s past – but also the last sixty years of Wizarding history? What if it caused irreparable damage to her relationship with Minerva as Hermione? What if she lost her best friend because she was trying to help make her happy? The implications were far-reaching. 

Minerva swept into the room and sat on the end of the bed. “What do you want to do today? We have all day together.” Her smiles faded as she saw the look of misery on Hermione’s face. “What’s wrong?” 

“My reserves are sufficient to get me back home and back to my job. I … have to go home today.” Hot, fat tears began coursing down her face. “But I don’t want to leave you.” The tears turned into choking sobs as all the stress and all the pain and all the feelings she had for Minerva came rushing to the forefront of her mind. 

Minerva swooped forward, kneeling behind Hermione on the bed, cradling her head and shoulders against her chest, crooning soft, comforting words in a stream. The action made Hermione sob that much harder, remembering how many times older-Minerva had done the same thing. 

“What if I’m never able to come back, Min? I don’t want to go. I don’t want to.” The pain in Hermione’s voice was palpable. 

“Of course you’ll come back, Morgan. Of course you will. Why wouldn’t you?” Minerva was just as scared that Morgan wouldn’t be able to come back as the other witch was, but she was able to bury her fears in the action of comforting the woman with whom she was quickly falling in love. 

Hermione cried herself out, grasping at Minerva’s robes, reveling in the similarities and differences between this Minerva and the one she knew in the future. She knew she had to get back home, but knew she would be back here as well. Coming up with a good cover story for what was sure to be lengthy absences on the fly, she said, “I’m an Unspeakable.” 

“What?” Minerva’s hands stopped their gentle motions, confused at the statement and where it came from. 

“You asked why I wouldn’t come back. I’m an Unspeakable and I get sent on dangerous and long missions. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back to you, if I even can. I’m overdue to be back as it is, but I couldn’t go back until my reserves were back up to par.” It hurt to have to lie to Minerva, especially knowing how she felt about secrets, but it had to be done. 

“Oh. I see.” 

Hermione jerked herself up to her knees, turning to face Minerva, who was still kneeling on the bed. Her hand reached up to cup a cheek that was quickly filling with tears. “Min. I will be back. I don’t know exactly when, but I _will_ come back to you. Please know that I don’t want to go, but I must, and I will do my duties for my job, thinking of you all the while. Everything I do from now until the time I come back will be in pursuit of getting back here to you.” Her hand withdrew until her fingers were on Minerva’s chin, raising it so that tear-filled green eyes were forced to look into similarly wet brown ones. “I will come back to you,” she said with a vehemence. 

For once leading with her emotions instead of with her head, she moved forward, her lips capturing Minerva’s in a bruising kiss, not waiting for permission to send her tongue racing forward to rub forcefully against the other. All of their other kisses had been very gentle and soft; the kisses of exploration and newness. This was very much a kiss of promise and forcefulness. This was a kiss of assurance, of making sure Minerva _knew_ she would be back. Minerva returned the force of the kiss hungrily, reaching up to bury one hand in Hermione’s loose hair, tugging lightly at it before releasing the kiss. “You’d better,” she growled, resuming the intense kiss. 

Taken by the moment, Hermione’s hands were roaming over Minerva’s back, and one took a path toward the front, brushing against the soft underside of one of the taller witch’s breasts, a thumb reaching upward to press against the tight nipple through her clothes. Minerva broke the kiss off again, hissing sharply at the sensation. “I’m sorry,” Hermione rasped out, dropping her hand. “Too much, too much. I have to go home today. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. It just felt better than I thought it would,” Minerva explained, breathing raggedly, “and I think I’m not quite ready for that yet.” 

“I know, Min. Whether you want my apologies or not, I’m giving them out whole-heartedly. I’m sorry, and not just for that, but also because if I’m going to leave today, I need to go now or I’ll forget everything and stay.” Tears shone brightly in both pairs of eyes. “Because of the nature of my work as an Unspeakable, you won’t be able to contact me while I’m gone, not by any means. The Ministry will tell you I don’t exist, and more traditional forms of contact won’t be able to find me. The moment I return, I’ll send you a message to let you know where you can find me. Gods I’m going to miss you, Min.” 

“I’ll miss you as well, Morgan, more than you know.” Minerva’s voice was thick with pain and tears. 

“I’m going to step out of the room and apparate away, Min, before I find myself unable to. Please just stay here until you hear me leave. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.” Hermione pressed one last soft kiss to Minerva’s lips, then stood and summoned her belongings. Everything in hand, she glanced at the crying witch on her bed, wishing again that she could stay. 

She stepped from the room, closed the door, and disapparated to Hogsmeade. She took a moment to clear her head and conjured a handkerchief to clean the tears from her face before walking into the Three Broomsticks. She found Mairead and baby Rosmerta, and wished them a fond farewell, thanking Mairead for all her help. She pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Rosie’s head, then made her way down to the Shrieking Shack to be sure she wasn’t seen. Thinking of her own London flat the day she’d left it, she placed a hand on the place where the crystal tattoo had formed. 

She incanted the word _Arj_ , and disappeared from Hogsmeade in 1946, appearing seconds later back in 2004 London. Pulling the chain from her neck and placing it back in its storage box, she cast the same diagnostic spell she’d used earlier, and saw that her magical stores were at the same level as when she’d woken up in Minerva’s guest room. _I could have returned at any point without any damage, then. Good to know for future trips. I only get drained on the initial journey._  

Closing the box holding the Time Crystal with a quiet snap, she stripped off the clothes she was wearing, took a hot shower, and then fell into her own bed to cry the rest of the day away, wishing she was with twenty-one-year-old Minerva back in the other flat. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gillywater: I searched and searched for a recipe online, but couldn't find anything that sounded feasible, so I made my own drink up for it. Assuming Gillywater is made from Gillyweed, I've given it the color of water, and used the basic flavor profile of Sonic's "Ocean Water", which is blue raspberry and coconut syrups added to Sprite. Instead of Sprite here, it's likely tonic water for bubbles mixed with a touch of Vodka or Gin to provide the alcohol. I don’t drink at all, so I’m not sure what would taste better. Suggestions?
> 
> Notice that while in the past, when Hermione didn’t know who she was, I referred to her as Morgan, even in the narrative, but when her memories came back, she became Hermione again. It may be a bit confusing, and I apologize, but it makes sense to me.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hours later, Hermione finally dragged herself from the bed, still wearing her glamours. She spent several minutes examining her altered self in the mirror, ensuring that she could replace all of them exactly when she got ready to go back, then finally cancelled them all, Morgan’s features melting away to become Hermione’s again. 

Not feeling up to doing much, but feeling her stomach growl, she picked up the phone and ordered takeaway from a little place down the street. 

Sitting down with her dinner half an hour later, she began to make a mental list of things she would need to do before going back to the past. 

_1\. I need a way to deal with finances. Holding an actual job in the past is too risky, and would require me to spend too much time there. I can’t bring modern currency back, either. The Goblins won’t recognize the makers’ marks and will call it counterfeit. The best thing would be to find something valuable here that won’t be missed, but will sell for a lot back then. Apparently I end up doing well, given what Minerva’s said about my vault in Gringotts. I just need to figure out how._

_2\. I need to talk to Minerva. I can’t reveal my identity because apparently I haven’t. She doesn’t know, and I’ll have to keep it that way until I’ve made every trip she remembers me making. I need to figure out how to get that information from her. Possibility: Let her in on my search, and ask for a list of times she’s seen me over the years, therefore letting me know when to show up. Is that too much foreknowledge for me?_

_3\. I need to learn how to be around Minerva as Hermione again instead of as Morgan. I cannot refer to her as ‘Min’, and I cannot kiss her, no matter how much I will want to. I must be aware of every touch, so I don’t touch her too much or too little and arouse suspicions that something’s up._

_4\. I need to figure out how to alert past-Minerva to my presence when I arrive. Handwriting is too distinctive; she would recognize Morgan’s penmanship in my school essays. She knows my Patronus, and would recognize it as Morgan’s. Wait, there was something in one of my old books about changing the form of one’s Patronus? Look into that._

_5\. I need to bring myself to terms with the fact that in trying to find Minerva’s life-long lover, I’ve become that person._  

The fifth item on the mental list was the sticking point. She had always loved Minerva, and idolized her for many years before they became friends. Minerva had always been the ideal toward which Hermione aspired as a witch. She had once truthfully told Minerva that if she ever went Dark, Hermione would feel compelled to go with her. It had scared her then, and it still did to a certain extent, but if they were supposed to end up being the loves of each other’s lives, then she supposed it was only right. She didn’t want to become one of those people who gave up their own identity just to be in a relationship with someone else, but at the same time, she knew that some changes were inevitable when merging one’s life with another’s. 

She had wondered about kissing Minerva a few times, thinking it was no more than a passing curiosity – like the buried desire to kiss Fleur had been. Having gotten that experience out of the way, she had no further attraction to the French witch. However, kissing the younger Minerva had awakened her inner desires rather than squashing them, as had happened with Fleur. She wondered if kissing her present friend would make her feel the same things she’d felt while kissing her at twenty-one. 

The following day was their scheduled monthly meeting. Hermione decided to go ahead and try to take care of the second item on her list and try to get Minerva to tell her all the times Morgan had visited. There were so many things that could go wrong, and she was going to have to work through them all in order to succeed. She wanted Minerva to be happy, and if this was how she could ensure that outcome, then she would pull out all the stops and, although it would take many years for both of them, she would make it happen. 

 _“Never mismanage your time.”_ The words of Ollivander’s father drifted through her mind, now soberingly applicative. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

After completely losing her cool over the request, Minerva had grudgingly given in and written out a list of all the times she had seen Morgan over the years. She was sullen and quiet for most of the visit afterward, but brightened up when Hermione finally announced that she’d completed her Masteries three days earlier. She had enfolded the younger woman in her arms, hugging her tightly, proud to have been part of her education. 

Minerva still didn’t understand why Hermione would spend her precious free time to try and track Morgan, but her words had been true enough; Minerva _was_ unhappy. She _was_ lonely. And she _was_ worried that Morgan hadn’t made it through the war. She sensed that there was something more to it, but tendrils of hope had started snaking their way into her heart, pushing aside her concerns about motivations. Hermione had rarely failed at anything, and if she truly was putting her time and effort into finding Morgan, then Minerva knew that her lover would be found. 

They shared another pot of tea and some lemon and ginger biscuits, going back to their normal easy conversation. Before either witch was aware of how much time had passed, the little clock on Minerva’s mantle chimed midnight. 

“Goodness, is it that late?” Minerva was shocked to hear the little bells tolling. 

“I guess it is. Merlin, I’m going to be completely useless at work in the morning.” Hermione rolled up the parchment Minerva had given her earlier and stuck it down into the inner pocket of her robe. “I can’t say as I’m too bothered about it though. I had a lovely time tonight, Minerva.” She stood and shook the cookie crumbs from her clothes. 

“As did I, Hermione, as did I.” Minerva stood as well. “Since it’s so late, the gates might not want to open for you. Let me walk you down to be sure.” 

They both threw heavy cloaks over their clothing against the cold night air, and began descending the staircases, chatting lightly as they slowly made their way down the path to the gates. The heavy iron bars didn’t move as they approached, forcing Minerva to touch her palm to one of the center poles before they started to scrape inward. She stepped back to where she’d left Hermione and waited for the gates to fully open. 

Just as they stopped creaking and stood still, something zoomed out of nowhere and hovered over Hermione and Minerva’s heads, cheerfully ominous. Minerva looked up and smiled while rolling her eyes. “Mistletoe. It looks like I have a student out of bed somewhere. One with very poor taste, given that they’re all set to leave in three days.” 

Hermione was mortified and tried to step away, but her feet were frozen inside a very small circle, trapped close to Minerva. “We, uh, seem to be stuck.” 

“Oh, aye, that’ll be the mistletoe. There’s always one or two industrious students who charm bits of it to hold people in place until they kiss. As I said, very poor taste. Might as well get it over with.” Minerva bent her head and placed a gentle peck on Hermione’s cheek, barely touching her lips to the soft skin. Straightening, she tried to step back, but was unable to. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Her green eyes flashed with annoyance. She reached out and turned Hermione to fully face her, her hands gripping the shorter woman’s upper arms near the shoulder. “Very poor indeed.” 

She could see the horror in Hermione’s eyes. “I’m very sorry, Hermione, but it seems whoever charmed this wanted more.” She reached her right hand up to softly cup the cheek she’d just kissed. “Is this okay?” 

“We have to get free, and this is the only way, right?” The obvious misery in Hermione’s voice hurt Minerva a little inside. Kissing a former student wasn’t high on Minerva’s list of things she wanted to do, but surely the prospect of having to kiss her wasn’t that bad, was it? 

“I’m afraid so.” She hid the hurt in her voice. 

“Then do it.” Hermione found a little inner steel and used it to fortify her cowardly spine. _Woman up, Hermione! It’s not like you’ve never kissed her before!_  

Minerva leaned back down and pressed her lips against Hermione’s, left them for a count of three, then pulled back. Again, they found themselves unable to move. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” uttered Hermione crossly, noting how Minerva’s eyes narrowed and darkened at the profanity. “If they want a good show, then let’s just give it to them, the little perverts.” Minerva’s eyes widened at her words. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ Hermione thought before she tilted her head up and whispered in Minerva’s ear, “I know this is uncomfortable for both of us. If it helps get us out of here, just pretend I’m … someone else.” She paused slightly, changing her mind at the last minute, choosing not to use Morgan’s name. She pulled her head back and looked earnestly into Minerva’s face, seeing the shock of her statement register in the deep green eyes. 

Minerva nodded curtly, and Hermione brought a hand up to Minerva’s neck, her thumb caressing the curve of a clenched jawbone, feeling the muscles relax under the treatment. This time, instead of Minerva leaning down for the kiss, Hermione raised herself on her toes and gently touched Minerva’s thin lips with her own, brushing them together once, twice, and a third time before pulling back slightly. Her eyes were still open, and she saw Minerva close her own before leaning further into Hermione, lips parted slightly in preparation. From there, instinct took over, and her brown eyes closed as well, meeting in the middle, and they lost themselves in each other, everything else fading away. Tongues gently ran over each other, lips moving in beautiful harmony, first one pressing forward before retreating to allow the other to take control for a moment, then sliding back to begin the cycle anew. 

Hands had left their positions on shoulders and cheeks to roam greedily over backs, spreading fire wherever they went. One of Minerva’s hands tangled in curls that were swaying in the cold winter wind. The kiss went on for several minutes, neither woman noticing as the magical mistletoe disappeared in a puff of ash over their heads, its requirements having long since been met. 

Finally, Hermione pulled back, her weight moving back from the balls of her feet to rest on the full sole, and their eyes fluttered open. She stepped back, Minerva’s hand falling from her hair, and managed to whisper a quick “Good night” before walking unsteadily backward through the gates and outside the Apparition wards that surrounded the castle. With a quick turn, Hermione disapparated away from Minerva and Hogwarts, appearing a second later in her London flat. 

She reached up a hand to her lips, still tingling from the impromptu snog. _What a kiss!_ Knowing Minerva as well as she did, and in possession of the knowledge that she could and did feel incredibly attracted to her, even in her older body, she thought _I could fall in love with her. I could. And it’s not as strange a thought as it was before._ She could feel her body flushing with remembered desire, and she collapsed onto the sofa in her living room. 

Meanwhile, Minerva was rooted to the spot she’d been in for the kiss. She didn’t know what to make of it. Her body was waking with the memory of touches and caresses, both gentle and not. She’d never felt anything like that for anyone but Morgan, and she was confused. _What in the world is going on?_  

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Over the three days leading to the students’ leaving for Christmas Holidays, Minerva’s confusion over her reaction to the kiss manifested itself in fury, the likes of which had not been seen in Hogwarts since Severus Snape used to stalk through her halls. She was livid, trying to find the person responsible for the mistletoe, and more than one innocent student suffered her wrath, all four houses suffering a deplorable point loss. 

Her staff was worried about her, wondering what could have caused such a quick shift in temperament. She was short and snappish, even with them, suspecting that it may not have been a student who was responsible. 

Finally, once the castle was empty and the Hogwarts Express was chugging away toward London, it was Filius Flitwick, her dependable Deputy Headmaster, and one of her oldest friends, who stopped her. He cornered her in the Headmistress’ office, and made her sit down and listen. 

“Minerva, you have got to calm down. I don’t know what happened or who’s responsible for your attitude the last few days, but it’s got to stop.” His normally high, squeaky voice was low and dangerous, with a generous overtone of concern for his friend. 

Minerva slumped back into her chair, raising her hands to cover her face in frustration and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Filius. Have I been so horrible?” 

“There are rumors that Severus’ ghost has come back and possessed you, dear. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you like this for … I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you like this, Minerva, and we’ve been friends for fifty years.” 

Minerva battled with herself internally for several long moments while Filius sat and patiently waited. Finally, she spoke with her voice just above a whisper, “I kissed Hermione.” 

The shock of her statement nearly knocked the part-Goblin out of his seat. His voice returned to its signature high pitch as he squeaked out, “Hermione? But I thought… what about Morgan?” 

After Albus’ death, Minerva had been hurting so badly, and she’d gone to the oldest friend she had left. Filius had listened sympathetically as she spilled the whole story about Morgan and their secret relationship, and how much Minerva needed her to be there. It had felt good to be able to open up about such a big part of her past, and soon after, Morgan had showed up. She hadn’t stayed long, and that was the last time Minerva had seen her. 

“Someone charmed some mistletoe so that we couldn’t escape until we had a proper snog. I’ve always been in love with Morgan, and I’ve never really wanted anyone else, although Merlin knows there have been mild attractions here and there. The forced kiss with Hermione, though, was … it stirred feelings in me that only Morgan has ever been able to rouse. She left right after we got free, and I don’t know how she felt about it, or if there could ever even be anything there, but gods, Filius, she makes me imagine things I shouldn’t be able to imagine with anyone but Morgan. And I think it’s all her fault. To try and set me at ease, Hermione told me to imagine she was ‘someone else’, and she knows about Morgan, and I don’t know if my reaction to the blasted thing was because of anything genuine or because I was actually thinking about Morgan.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, falling to soak into the heavy woolen robes she was wearing. 

Flitwick just sat, silent and blinking rapidly, trying to take in everything she’d just said. “So, you were forced to kiss her. She knows about Morgan and told you to imagine you were kissing her instead. It was an earth-shattering kiss, and unless I’m mistaking what you didn’t say, you would like to do it again without the other issues in the way?” 

It was Minerva’s turn to blink. “I… yes. But the worst part is that whatever _might_ be with Hermione, I’m still in a relationship with Morgan, and even though we had no choice, I feel guilty, like I was cheating, which, as you know, is something I don’t condone under any circumstances.” She felt like her heartstrings were being ripped out slowly, guilt eating away at the healthy muscle, leaving behind a torn and bloody mess. 

“It sounds to me, then, like you need to talk to Hermione.” He stopped her outburst with an outstretched finger. “No, wait. Listen to me.” She settled back into her chair, her confusion evident. “You don’t have to tell her everything, but you do need to find out how she feels about the situation. At the very least, you owe her the knowledge that you won’t allow it to go any further until things are resolved with Morgan.” 

She sighed deeply, running her hands up and down her face, her fingers putting pressure on her forehead and around her eyes and nose. “You’re right, Filius. You’re right. I owe her at least that much.” She dropped her hands and smiled weakly. “Did you know...? She got her certifications on Wednesday. She’s now a fully qualified Mistress in both our fields.” 

“Is she?” He wasn’t surprised to hear that she’d accomplished so much, but he hadn’t even known she was pursuing both masteries at the same time. “What were her final projects?” 

The question brought Minerva up short. “You know… I never thought to ask her.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The week had dragged by for Hermione, now working four days a week for the DRCMC and Mr. Catalpa. Finally, Friday arrived, and with it, Christmas Eve, and she had a day to herself. 

Emboldened with the information that she could feel just as much for older Minerva as she could for younger Min, as she’d begun to distinguish between them in her mind, Hermione set about tackling the other items on her list. Number Five had been settled with the unexpected kiss, and Number Two as well with the list Minerva had given her. 

In an effort to minimize the effects the kiss would have on Number Three, Hermione drafted a short letter to Minerva. In the note, she reassured her friend that she understood it had been an uncomfortable situation for both of them, but that imagining other people had certainly helped get them through it and out of the mistletoe’s trap. It was a lie on her part, because she’d been tangled up in thoughts of Minerva, and, she thought, technically a lie on the other woman’s part as well since she and Morgan were the same person, but Minerva didn’t know that. 

The letter written, she tucked it into the book she’d bought for Minerva for Christmas, wrapped it all first in festive paper, then in a heavy brown paper. She tied the package with burlap twine before sending it off to Hogwarts. 

Having gotten that out of the way, Hermione decided to tackle Number Four on her list: coming up with a means of contacting Min when she arrived in the past. She dug through her library and found the slim volume on Charms that she’d received when she’d moved into her rooms at Hogwarts for that last year. 

She curled up with the book in a corner of her sofa, and found the passages dealing with the Patronus charm. It seemed that while the initial form of a Patronus was something that the magic chose based on the innate characteristics of the caster, it was possible to disguise one's Patronus if the memories used were happy enough and if the caster possessed enough strength of character. 

Hermione picked up her wand and summoned her normal Patronus. “ _Expecto Patronum_!” she said, and the figure of her playful otter burst from the end of her wand. He gamboled around the room for a moment, searching out the danger before returning to look up at her quizzically. “Hello, Emmett,” she smiled at him. “My apologies, old friend, but I need to know.” She concentrated on the memory of her first kiss with Min, lying in the bed above the Three Broomsticks. “ _Patronus Muta_!” The little silver otter turned a backflip, and landed on eight spindly legs. 

“Fuck!” Hermione exclaimed. Of all the animals she could have gotten, she would never have expected a spider. It stood about knee-high, about twice the size Aragog had been when he left for the Forest. The spider scuttled around the floor before coming back to stand in front of Hermione, raising itself to glance at her. “Hello. I'm sorry I don't have a name for you yet, but it's very nice to meet you.” The silver spider made a movement that could be a nod before fading away. 

She knew each animal had a meaning, and her curiosity over what the spider meant was bubbling over. She didn't have any books on the subject on her shelves, and that only meant one thing: a trip to the bookstore. She threw a thick cloak over her shoulders, fastened it quickly, and used her Floo connection to travel to the Leaky Cauldron. 

A quick trip through Flourish and Blotts later, she was back in her flat poring through another book, this one outlining the underlying meanings of various animals as they related to Patronuses and Animagus forms. 

 _Creativity, Patience, Receptivity, Weaver of Fate and Destiny._  

The overwhelming consensus on the meaning of a Spider Patronus was that she held these attributes. One passage was eerily appropriate for her situation: 

_If Spider has woven her way into your life, she is bringing your attention to your creativity. Is it at a peak right now? Are you ignoring your ideas and dreams? Have you taken the time to find the balance between your past and future? Primarily, Spider is giving you the message that you weave your own web in life. The reality you see before you was created by yourself. If it does not suit you, then it is time to make changes._

_Spider will teach you balance between the past and future, physical and spirit, male and female. She is strength and gentleness combined. She awakens creative sensibilities and reminds you that the past is always interwoven with the future. Spider's message is that you are an infinite being who will continue to weave patterns of life and living throughout time. Do not fail to see the eternal plan of creation._ * 

The little vindictive voice in the back of her head made her want to send a Patronus message to Ron in the spider form, just to see him jump out of his skin. She pushed those thoughts aside, however. Charlotte would belong to Morgan, and Emmett would remain Hermione’s. 

Keeping hold of the memory of Min, she cast the charm again and again, experimenting with calling a specific form. She found that if she concentrated hard enough on the memory, and kept the intended form at the forefront of her mind, she could easily call either Emmett or Charlotte at will. Smiling at her accomplishment, she remembered early on in their year on the run when she’d had so much trouble casting the spell. 

She just hadn’t had enough hard times at that point to make her happy memories strong enough to easily and consistently cast it. Harry had faced hardship at every turn growing up, and had some very happy memories at Hogwarts by the time he was thirteen, and it was that distinction which made his Patronus so strong. Until that year spent camping, hungry and cold and terrified by the feelings the Horcrux had evoked, followed by the battle at Hogwarts and the losses she’d suffered, she just hadn’t had the basis of comparison between the good times and the bad required to cast a truly powerful Patronus. When she added in the sheer bliss and strength that the memory of that first kiss brought forth, she didn’t think she would ever have trouble casting the complicated charm again. 

That took care of Number Four. She mentally reviewed what she had left to solve before she could go back to Min. She still needed to work out finances. That was a major point, and while she had some vague ideas on how to solve it, she wasn’t anywhere near finishing that one up. Number Three, her actions or inactions around Minerva would be an ongoing concern until all her trips had been made and she could reveal who Morgan really was. That would be the only solution to it, and there was no way to know how long that would take. 

So the last thing she really had to do before she could go back was ensure she would be financially stable once she got there. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

In the end, the money question was answered by Harry, and to an extent, Ron, although neither of them were aware of the question or the answer. Hermione was invited to the CM for New Year’s Eve, and while walking around the library with her drink in hand, she was perusing the framed photos that had been hung on the walls. 

There was one of Neville handing the Sword of Gryffindor over to a tall Gringotts Goblin in a simple ceremony soon after the final battle was over. Since it had been Harry who promised its return to Griphook, everyone had thought he would be the one to complete the ceremony. Instead, he had suggested that Neville do it instead, stating that while he had used the jeweled sword a time or two, Neville had used it for its most important purpose in defeating Nagini, Voldemort’s snake and final Horcrux. Nagini had been the second of the Dark Lord’s six intended Horcruxes to be destroyed by the sword, and it had assisted in the destruction of a third when Harry had used it to kill the Basilisk back in their second year, and then used one of its fangs to stab the first Horcrux. 

 _Basilisk._  

The Basilisk’s remains were still down in the Chamber of Secrets. When she and Ron had gone down to get a fang to do away with the cup, its carcass had been stripped of everything of value, leaving behind only a skeleton. What if it hadn’t been normal decay? Basilisk Skin, Fangs, and Venom were highly valued and _very_ rare to find, due to the sheer dangerous nature of the beast from which they came. 

Inspiration hit her like a sack of bricks. She could go back to when the remains had been fresher, procure its skin and a few fangs still containing venom, and that would give her more than enough money to start out with. She could simply take the parts and pieces back to 1946 with her, sell them to some discreet Apothecaries, and be set. 

She could take that seed money and invest in Wizarding and Muggle businesses she knew would succeed, and she would never have to worry about money again. This had to be how Morgan’s vault became so healthy. It had to be. 

The ethics of using time travel for such a reason were a bit questionable, but she thought pretty much the entire idea of her repeated trips to the past had problems, so what was this added to everything else? 

More people arrived, and the party started in earnest. Harry and Luna were the hosts, and they had invited most of their friends and family to join in the festivities. Ron was still sulking and had pronounced that he wouldn’t attend if Hermione did. Not willing to put up with his immature attitude over the situation, Harry had told him to just stay home if that was how he felt. 

She talked for a while with the Twins, whose business was skyrocketing them into international fame. When Neville and Ginny arrived, Hermione tightly wrapped her arms around his waist, silently thanking him for the inspiration his photograph had given her. He and Ginny shared a look, but shrugged it off as Hermione just being … well, Hermione, and hugged her back. 

She was surprised to see Minerva show up about an hour before the big moment, but made her way slowly through the room, talking to people along the way, until she was finally at Minerva’s side. 

They shared some light small-talk, conversation stilted between them for the first time since they’d become friends. When the fifteen second countdown to midnight began, Hermione considered finding someone else to stand with, but decided against it. As the room reached the final second, shouting madly, Hermione looked up at Minerva, who was looking back down at her. Without stopping to consider the consequences to the third item on her internal list, Hermione reached up and placed a gentle kiss on Minerva’s cheek, holding it for only a couple seconds before pulling away. 

As the room began to sing the standard _Auld Lang Syne_ , Hermione ducked out of the room, made her way out the back door, and apparated away to her flat. She really shouldn’t have kissed her again. It went against everything her head and Number Three were screaming at her, but she’d been compelled to do it and couldn’t resist. 

Maybe the sweet, chaste nature of the kiss would help? 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The Saturday morning following the New Year festivities dawned clear, bright, and cold. Hermione snuggled deeper into her quilts, thinking about a hot shower, and a hot meal. She had spent so many years with Saturdays spent working at the Ministry, and the novelty of having more than one day off per week hadn’t worn off. She swore to herself that she would spend the entire day lazing around her flat, while still working on the pressing concerns of how to do what she needed to get back to her Min. 

Throwing off the covers, she stretched languorously before standing and stripping off her night clothes, sending them wandlessly to float into the laundry hamper. She turned the shower on in the bathroom, and brushed her teeth the Muggle way while waiting for the water to get hot. Stepping into the gloriously hot water, she began methodically washing herself, her mind occupied with the thoughts that had been plaguing her all week. 

She was sure that standard anti-apparition wards would prevent her from jumping directly onto Hogwarts grounds, and she couldn’t be seen trying to sneak in. The gates wouldn’t open for her, and there was no way she would be able to talk Dumbledore into letting her in, no matter what kind of disguise she used. 

The thoughts heavy on her mind, she finished her shower and turned the water off. Brushing her hand down the front of a hanging towel, she cast a quick warming charm on it before picking it up and toweling herself dry. Using a similar method, she ran her hands lightly through her hair, partially drying it before quickly braiding the damply tamed strands into a neat plait, securing the bottom with a cloth-wrapped thin elastic band. 

Absent-mindedly walking into her bedroom to find something to put on, she stopped abruptly and shrieked, hands jumping to cover the important bits. Kreacher was walking around her bedroom, tidying up. 

At her yelp, Kreacher stopped what he was doing and muttered “Bother” under his breath. 

She quickly summoned a robe from a hook on the closet door, and threw it on. “Kreacher, what are you _doing_?” Now covered by the cotton robe, she was staring the elf down with one hand on her hip, the other holding the top edges of the robe tightly together. 

His ears drooped, and he began wringing his hands together in front of his hunched-over body. “Mistress Hermione! Home on Saturday! Kreacher is so sorry to disturb his Mistress.” 

“You’re not disturbing me, Kreacher. I was just surprised to see you. Are you regularly here on Saturdays?” Hermione wasn’t upset with him, really. She was only confused by his presence. 

His body began to shake, and his ears drooped even further, pressing tightly against his head. “Kreacher comes every Saturday to clean his Mistress’ home. Mistress gets so caught up in her work and her studies, and Kreacher would have to punish himself if he allowed anyone under his care to live in filth. Kreacher takes care of his family, Mistress. Kreacher has not told his Mistress what he has been doing, because Kreacher knew she would worry that he was doing too much, but … I am happy to serve you, Mistress, even when you no longer live at home.” 

She was moved by his speech, and knelt down in front of him, reaching a hand out to rest on his still-wringing hands. “I think it’s very nice that you’ve been keeping my flat clean for me, Kreacher. I’ve been so busy, and you’re right. I would have a very dirty flat indeed if it had been up to me. Thank you.” His ears perked up a little, and he stopped shaking, his hands stilling their wringing motions. “However, I can’t allow you to continue doing this extra work for free. I know how much Harry pays you, and I know you don’t spend it, but I insist on giving you a silver Sickle every month from here on out. It’s nowhere near what I’d like to pay you, and I know it’s a lot more than you’d like to take, but if you’re to continue, I insist that you take it.” 

“But Mistress, Kreacher has nothing to spend money on. Master Harry makes Kreacher eat out of the meals Kreacher prepares for him and Miss Luna, and provides plenty of tea towels for Kreacher to wear, and Mistress helped Master Harry fix up Kreacher’s room. Kreacher has no _need_ for money.” He started shaking again, but thankfully not as hard as he had been shaking before. 

Remembering the Elf-rights laws she had helped to form several months earlier, she knew better than to insist on giving him anything he truly didn’t want, but it stung that he was doing all this extra work without being compensated. 

“If that’s how you truly feel, then I won’t force you to take money, but if you ever need anything, Kreacher, please promise you’ll let me know.” She squeezed his hands. 

“So Mistress won’t make Kreacher take her money?” He stopped shaking again, and his ears perked up a little more. 

“No, not if you truly don’t want me to.” 

His ears shot up to their full height, and the look of elation on his face dispelled her worries about wrongfully using him. “Thank you, Mistress! Kreacher does promise to come to his Mistress if ever he needs anything not provided by Master Harry! Now, why doesn’t Mistress lie back down, and Kreacher will fix her a nice breakfast, yes?” 

Hermione had never seen Kreacher so happy and animated. He almost reminded her of Dobby acting like that. She debated the extra work he would be doing by not only cleaning, but also cooking for her, but the devotion shining from his eyes settled things in his favor. 

“I’d love some breakfast, Kreacher, but I’ll have it at the table instead of in bed. While I am planning on being at home all day, there’s no need to laze around in bed the whole time.” 

“Of course, Mistress, whatever you want.” He snapped his fingers a couple of times, and her bed was instantly made, and the bathroom was sparkling. “Does Mistress have any requests for her breakfast?” 

Hermione thought longingly back to Sunday mornings when she’d been small and waking up to the smell of cinnamon and butter wafting through the house. “I think I have everything in there to make French toast, and maybe some fresh fruit to go with it?” 

“Yes, Mistress. Kreacher makes excellent French toast. It will be ready for Mistress in just a few minutes.” The jubilant House-elf almost skipped his way out of her bedroom on his way to the kitchen. Hermione shook her head, smiling at his enthusiasm as she stood up and walked over to the closet. She hung her robe back on its hook and reached for comfortable underwear, slipping into them before pulling out a soft pair of jogging bottoms in a soft heather grey with lilac trim and a matching hooded jumper. She dressed quickly and fastened her wand holster to the waist of the trousers, fixing her Walnut wand into it. She then tugged on a pair of thick socks, and padded into the living room. 

Every surface in sight gleamed and sparkled in the morning sunshine, the drapes having been thrown open to allow the light to stream in cheerfully. There was a small fire crackling in the hearth, and the wickedly mouth-watering scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and browned butter soon reached her nose. Her heart twinged at this reminder of the happy childhood she’d had, and how she had ruined it all with one carefully cast _Obliviate_. 

There was a bowl of artfully cut fruit already on the small dining table. There were thinly sliced strawberries, red and ripe, round balls of orange cantaloupe and green honeydew melons, yellow spikes of juicy pineapple tidbits, and small pieces of mandarin oranges, all mixed together and looking delicious. A pitcher of pulpy orange juice sat next to the bowl of fruit, and the table was already set with a cloth placemat, on top of which rested a large plate surrounded by properly placed flatware. Kreacher came out just a second later, carrying another plate with two thick slices of steaming French toast, a container of warmed maple syrup and a shaker containing powdered sugar floating behind him. He set the warm plate on top of the one in the place setting, and arranged the syrup and sugar to sit at the corner of the placemat. 

“This looks absolutely delicious, Kreacher! Thank you so much for cooking for me. This all looks like maybe a little too much just for me, though. Why don’t you get another plate and join me? I don’t really like eating alone, you know.” Hermione sat down at the prepared seat, and reached to pour some juice into the waiting goblet. 

“Mistress wants Kreacher to eat with her?” He croaked out, surprised at the offer. 

“Of course. You prepared it all, you may as well enjoy some of it.” She waved her wand, and another place setting appeared in front of the other seat. She sent one of the slices of toast over to the other plate and put her wand away before beginning to dust powdered sugar over the hot bread. 

Kreacher looked at her dubiously before crawling into the offered chair. When Hermione finished with the powdered sugar shaker, she passed it over where he could reach it, and drizzled the warm syrup over the top of the sweetened toast. He hesitantly reached for the shaker and put just a little on top of his own slice, waiting for the syrup. She passed it over dutifully, and he poured a generous amount over his toast. 

She reached her hand up and crooked a finger, silently summoning another glass from the kitchen and set it in front of his plate, pouring him some juice from the pitcher. Another crook brought another bowl flying to sit next to his plate, and she used a spoon to move some of the fruit from her bowl over into his. His eyes were narrow and distrustful, not used to sharing meals with anyone else, much less his Master or Mistress, but he picked up his fork and began eating, careful to be as polite as possible. 

Hermione cut a bite from her toast and as it touched her tongue, her eyes closed in bliss. The browned butter, the egg and cream mixture, the cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla, and the thick slice of baguette all came together perfectly, and the combination of the perfectly cooked toast with the sugar and syrup was delightfully sinful. She moaned lightly, enjoying the way the flavors burst on her tongue as she chewed and then swallowed. Taking a small sip of her juice, she said, “Kreacher, you have absolutely outdone yourself. This is the best French toast I’ve ever had.” 

He brightened up at the compliment, but said nothing. She speared some of the fruit with her fork, and it was all perfectly ripe and firm and cold. “I was sure some of my fruit was a little over ripe, but I guess I was wrong, because this is perfect.” 

“Some of it was, Mistress. Kreacher fixed it.” 

She was surprised to hear about this heretofore unknown ability of Elven magic, but was thankful for the wonderful Saturday morning meal. “Thank you, Kreacher. For everything. It means the world to me that you take time out of your busy life to come and care for me, even when I didn’t know. And this breakfast! I know you don’t normally eat with us, and it had to be uncomfortable for you, but I really do appreciate you making the effort. Thank you.” 

They finished their meal in silence, Kreacher on the verge of tears after her little speech. He’d never really been thanked for his service like that before she and Harry had come along, and it lightened his heart to know that the work he did for them was so appreciated. He could never have imagined eating in the presence of Witches and Wizards when he had worked for Mistress Walburga, and he was sincerely touched by the trust Mistress Hermione placed in sharing her meal with him. 

When they were finished, Kreacher snapped his fingers several times, the dishes whizzing away to the sink to start washing themselves up, and the table finding itself immaculately clean again. All the surfaces in the kitchen were left in the same condition. Hermione sat and watched as he kept snapping his fingers, and more of her tiny flat gleamed in the aftermath of his cleaning magics. He disappeared into her bedroom, and she heard his fingers snapping away as he pulled all the laundry from the hamper, automatically cleaning each piece and putting it away, perfectly pressed and hung in the closet or folded and placed carefully in the waiting drawers. The dishes finished washing themselves, and another snap had them all dried and put away, and the sink left shining and clean. One last pair of snaps had the carpets and furniture dirt and dust-free, and smelling fresh like lemons and herbs. 

Kreacher walked up to where Hermione had been watching him work from her dining chair, and bowed low in front of her, his nose and droopy ears brushing the ground. He straightened up and looked her carefully in the eyes before speaking. “Mistress is welcome. Kreacher … Kreacher lives to serve, and he gets more pleasure in doing for this Mistress than he ever got from any other Master or Mistress who came before. Kreacher gives his fealty to Mistress Hermione freely and with no reserve. Kreacher is your servant, Mistress. Forever.” He reached up to touch an astonished Hermione’s hand briefly, an electric shock passing through his fingers to hers, and then with a pop, he left. 

Watching Kreacher apparate away, she was hit with a blinding flash of inspiration. If she used the Crystal while already on Hogwarts grounds, she should, like a house elf, be able to pop back in time without having to force her way through the Anti-Apparition wards. She would have to test the theory to be sure, but it was a step in the right direction. 

Having possibly solved the problem of how to get onto Hogwarts grounds and into the Chamber of Secrets without alerting Dumbledore to her presence, she took the day to catch up on some of her casual reading. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next morning, she popped over to Hogwarts and sent a quick Patronus message to Hagrid, asking him to come down to the gates. She didn’t want Minerva to know she was there unless it was necessary, not wanting her to ask questions. When Hagrid strode up to the gates and opened them for her, she greeted him warmly. He asked why she needed him to let her in when she normally asked Minerva for her access, and she quickly came up with a believable lie. She told him she was working on a special gift for their friend, and needed to take a few photographs of the grounds without Minerva knowing she was there. Hagrid was horrible at keeping secrets, but if word did get out that she’d been there, she would figure out a way to justify the move. 

She gave Hagrid a warm hug and promised to come by his hut when she was finished for tea and a visit before he let her out. Finding a quiet corner of the grounds near the lake, not far from where she and Minerva had paused in their walk the day Ron had proposed, she pulled the Crystal out from under her robes and softly whispered the incantation to take her directly into the Chamber of Secrets, five minutes earlier. When she added the final spell word, _Ausafr_ , she disappeared silently, and reappeared exactly five minutes earlier in the bowels of the castle, near the desiccated corpse of the Basilisk. 

A look of triumph erupted on her face as her hypothesis was proven correct. All she had to do was get onto the grounds of the castle in the present time, and she could appear in the Chamber whenever she wanted. She had decided that the morning after the Basilisk had been killed would be the best day to get what she needed. The skin and fangs would be at their freshest, and there had been enough confusion that day over the waking of all the petrified students – including herself, the unexpected freeing of Dobby, and the early morning feast to cover her appearance up. 

Heart jubilant, she shouted _Arj_ and returned to her spot by the lake. To keep up the lie she told Hagrid, she conjured up a disposable Muggle camera, and wandered around for half an hour, taking pictures of various places that held meaning for her, not daring to go inside the castle for fear of seeing Minerva.

Finally, she returned to Hagrid’s little hut and sat down for a short visit before he escorted her back down to the gates and opened them for her. He pressed her into another tight hug, and made her promise to make more time to visit with him in the future. 

Apparating back home, she began researching all the useful bits that could be taken from a Basilisk. Once she had a comprehensive list of what she would need to strip from its body, she started looking into the businesses in which she would want to invest once she got back to 1946. Over the next week, she noted several that had started up around that time, taking advantage of a post-war economic boom. Some were still successful in 2004, but others had fluttered out of existence somewhere in the interim time. She wrote down the shorter list of the ones which were still successful, earmarking certain percentages of her ill-gotten funds for investing in each one. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next Sunday was her scheduled meeting with Minerva, and she made sure to bring her beaded purse, stuffed with containers to hold the bits and pieces she would retrieve from the giant snake back in 1993. The gates were open and waiting for her when she arrived, and she trudged up to the castle alone. She climbed up to the seventh floor and asked the Gargoyle to let her in. She was sure the meeting would be awkward between the mistletoe kiss and the little one from Harry’s party, but she was determined to fix everything. 

She stopped in front of the closed door, breathed in and out deliberately, calming herself, then opened the door and stepped in. 

Minerva sat in her usual chair, heavy robes in place, her bun unusually tight and restrained, and her eyeglasses polished to a high shine. As Hermione entered the room, she stood and turned to welcome her young friend. 

“Minerva, before we go through the awkward greeting where neither of us knows how to act, I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I was completely inappropriate at the end of our last visit, and I wasn’t any better on New Year’s Eve. I’m sorry.” Hermione blurted it all out, not even allowing Minerva to say hello, scared that instead of being polite and greeting her, she would instead just ask Hermione to leave. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Hermione. Neither of us had any control over what happened with the mistletoe, nor was it the first time one of us has kissed the other on the cheek. I admit I was confused as to why you left even before the song was finished, but if you were feeling that awkward over our last meeting, then I understand.” Minerva didn’t understand anything at all, but if Hermione was willing to apologize and move on, then she would do the same. “I apologize myself if knowing that I was thinking of someone else during our kiss made you uncomfortable.” She waved her hand toward Hermione’s normal seat across from hers. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll forget about the whole thing, hmm?” 

“Thank you.” Hermione sat in her chair, and they began their meeting, all awkwardness gone. Minerva inquired whether she had made any progress locating Morgan, and Hermione explained, as planned, that she had begun the process, but it would probably take quite some time to track her down, even with knowledge of her historical movements at her disposal. Minerva told her that Professor Flitwick had been most impressed when he’d heard the news of Hermione’s dual-Mastery status, and remembered to ask what her final projects had been. 

Blushing slightly at the unexpected question, Hermione quickly came up with an answer that she had done one project to satisfy the requirements of both areas of study, but that the Department of Mysteries had snapped up the results right away, preventing her from discussing it with anyone. 

The rest of their visit was their normal conversation, the theories behind this spell or that charm, and how one area affected others. For instance, how certain Potions ingredients were difficult to come by, and before the invention of Stasis Charms, had been next to impossible to procure before they spoiled. 

The conversation reminded Hermione that she needed to imbue all her containers with permanent Stasis Charms to prevent the precious ingredients she was going to harvest from going bad before she could get them back to the forties and sell them. She sent a silent thanks to Nimüe for bringing the topic into their conversation. 

Two pots of tea and a heaping plate of biscuits later, Hermione made her excuses and left, stopping into Myrtle’s bathroom on her way down. She checked to be sure the weeping ghost wasn’t currently in residence before pulling the Time Crystal out and incanting the spell that would take her back to middle of the night after Harry had killed the Basilisk. _Ausafr_ , she whispered, completing the spell, and she disappeared from the bathroom which housed the Chamber of Secrets, reappearing eleven years earlier deep below. 

For the first time, Hermione found herself truly frightened when she arrived. She was too early. She had miscalculated. She quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm, and from her discreet corner of the room, she watched as Harry stabbed the journal, killing the first piece of Voldemort’s shattered soul. She watched as the image of Tom Riddle writhed and screamed before fading away. She witnessed the conversation between Harry and Ginny, and watched as they limped out of the Chamber, heading back to where Ron was waiting in the tunnel. 

Knowing she had a bit of time now where everyone would be busy, she cancelled the Disillusionment Charm and pulled out her bag, setting out all the containers she’d brought with her. Remembering her conversation, she put permanent Stasis Charms on each of the glass containers and their corresponding lids, and set about stripping the Basilisk of everything remotely useful, remembering to leave enough fangs for her and Ron to find in 1998. It took her about an hour and a half to harvest everything and package it all up. She was just tucking the last container back into her bag when she felt a tingle along her spine, as though she was being watched. She spun around quickly, her wand at the ready, but lowered it slowly as she faced the pale blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. She was used to seeing the blue eyes with his signature twinkle, but these eyes were quite serious. There was no twinkle to them at all. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Information taken from spirit-animals dot com slash spider.
> 
> So it's painfully obvious where Hermione got the name for her Spider Patronus, but bonus points to anyone who can tell me where the other name came from.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Quick note: While Hermione is in the past, pretending to be Morgan, I will refer to her as such. So when “Morgan” wakes up and I’m not saying “Hermione,” know that they are still the same person. Alright, that’s it.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The cold blue eyes stared her down, his wand in hand. “May I ask who you are and how you got onto school grounds without permission? I think we can both tell why you’re here, although that begs the question of how you knew there would be a dead Basilisk tonight.” His voice, while still calm and pleasant on the surface, had an undertone of hard anger. 

Hermione kept her eyes from staring directly into his, avoiding any attempts at Legilimency on his part; her Occlumency shields were passably good, but she didn’t know if they would stand up to a healthy Albus Dumbledore’s attempts to break through. 

“Sir? You do know me, only not quite in this form. I believe I am currently upstairs enjoying the mid-night feast after having been awoken with the Mandrake juice.” She could see him frowning as he mentally ran through the list of people who had been petrified. “I am Hermione Granger, sir, and I’m here from the year 2005.” 

Recognition flashed in his eyes, the twinkle making a limited appearance. “Miss Granger. Of course. I have to say I’m disappointed in this blatant misuse of a Magical Artifact. However, you said you come from twelve years in the future? That’s quite impossible with a standard Time-Turner, and so I’m curious as to how you came to be so far in your own past.” The angry undertone was gone, leaving his voice the same quietly calming baritone it had always been. 

Faced with a friendly Dumbledore once again, Hermione was torn. She wanted to rush forward and embrace the man who would be dead in just four years, but she needed to keep the future under a tight lock, and if she gave in to the desire to hug him as tightly as she wanted to, she might give away too much. She was ashamed at having been caught, but at least being discovered by the king of secrets was better than having been found by Minerva. 

“There’s a great deal I would like to tell you, sir, but you know that I cannot. I must uphold the timeline as much as possible. I already knew the Basilisk had been stripped for parts from another trip down here in the future, and I found myself with a desperate need, and the ability to get myself here and back home, so I took the opportunity. I apologize that I can’t tell you any more than that, but I … I can’t.” Her eyes were so sad that she wouldn’t be able to save him, and although he didn’t know the reasons behind the strong emotions, he could respect that she couldn’t tell him anything more. 

“I see, and I understand. However, Miss Granger, I will be waiting for you once you return to 2005 to come and see me then, so that you can explain all of this. Can you at least promise to do that?” 

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded silently, knowing it was an oath she’d never be able to fulfill. In a moment of impulse, she stepped forward and reached up to cup his cheek with her left hand, pressing a kiss to the other. “Be careful, sir. There are dark times ahead, which I think you already know, given what Harry destroyed down here tonight. Trust him more, if possible. He will surpass everyone’s expectations in the end, even your own.” She stepped back and made sure her little bag was safely tucked into her pocket. “I will probably not see you again before our scheduled meeting, but I think the school is very likely in need of its venerable Headmaster at the feast right now. Goodbye, Albus.” She stumbled a little over his given name, and his eyes widened in a bit of surprise before the twinkle took over his clear blue eyes. 

“Until then, Miss Granger.” 

She whispered _Arj_ under her breath, and to his great surprise, disappeared silently. 

“How very interesting,” he murmured to the empty room. “She shouldn’t have been able to do that.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hermione reappeared in Myrtle’s restroom with a jolt. She hadn’t expected to see Dumbledore; she hadn’t expected to see anyone. She lurched and swayed her way out of the castle and down to the gates, finding them open and waiting for her, as they’d been when she’d arrived. She apparated back to her flat and collapsed into the bed, squeezing back hot tears. 

It had hurt to experience first-hand her inability to save anyone with this miracle she’d created. It would have been so easy to tell him what was coming. So easy to prepare him, to allow him to make better choices, but she knew she couldn’t. If things had been different, she might not have made such fast friends with Minerva. She might have never created the Crystal. She might have deprived herself and Minerva both of the chance to fall in love and have that in their lives. It was an impossible situation. 

 _Minerva._  

Her tears began to dry up as thoughts of her witch floated through her mind. She had everything she needed to go back and finally see her Min again. She would be much better prepared this time. 

Sitting up with a jerk, she decided not to wait. She jumped out of her bed and dug around to the very back of her closet, pulling out the vintage-looking dresses and robes she had fashioned after looking through magazines of the day. She threw the lot onto the bed and knelt down to pull out the boots and sturdy shoes she’d likewise found and put together, tossing them on the bed with the clothes. Digging through the bottom drawer, she selected some tights and stockings, and panties and bras that were true to the period. They all joined the pile of clothes and shoes. 

Remembering her sleep attire from the last trip with a smirk, she added a couple pair of long pajama bottoms and matching button-down tops. Having gotten everything from the closet, she then chose an outfit to put on and packed the rest neatly away in a small suitcase, shoving it down into her beaded bag. 

She stripped and all her modern clothing flew into the hamper, quickly replaced by the old-fashioned underwear. Leaving the skirt and shirt, she went into the bathroom and cast a detangling spell on her hair before pulling it back in the simple, timeless bun, again leaving a few front strands free to arrange in loose curls away from her face. She then cast the series of glamours that would turn her from Hermione into Morgan. Stepping back from the mirror, she appraised herself, looking for any identifying marks that might set off warning bells if Minerva ever made the connection. 

The only thing she could see was the ropy scar across her chest from Dolohov’s attack in the Department of Mysteries. It wasn’t very large, curving along her ribs, nearly reaching her left breast before stopping. After the series of potions Madam Pomfrey had forced down her throat for those ten days, and the years that had passed, it was thinner and lighter than when it had been fresh. She skimmed her fingers over the smooth scar tissue, and decided that it wasn’t distinctive enough to worry about. Minerva had never seen it, anyway, having been in St. Mungo’s dealing with her own injuries when Hermione had been brought in. 

And it wasn’t as though she was _planning_ on Min seeing the area. However, she thought it best to be prepared… just in case. 

She dressed quickly, slipping into the stockings, admiring the way the rear seam set off the shape of her legs as she clipped them in place. She tucked the white silk button-down shirt into the long black skirt, and slipped into the slightly heeled, but sensible shoes she’d left out. Pausing for a moment to admire herself in the outfit, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and winked cheekily at her reflection, blowing it a kiss while popping one leg up behind her like they used to do during a good kiss in the old Muggle films she used to watch with her dad. 

She laughed throatily in Morgan’s slightly deeper voice as she went into her little office, pulling out the parchments containing Minerva’s timeline, the list of businesses in which she wanted to invest, and some forged identification documents, again on a just in case basis. 

According to the timeline parchment, Morgan was supposed to appear the afternoon of the Fifteenth of November, which was a Friday. Hermione decided to go ahead and arrive the night before, and spend it at the Three Broomsticks with Mairead and Rosie. She had some business to which she needed to attend before seeing her Min, as once she met back up with the younger – at least at that time – woman, she wouldn’t want to let her out of her sight for some time. 

She tucked the bit of parchment back into her desk, unwilling to take that kind of information with her to the past. The other papers were shoved into a manila envelope, proofed against intrusion by water or other liquids. She was confident that the Basilisk parts would stay inside their sealed glass containers, but she had always believed that it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Shoving the envelope into her little bag, she took a quick inventory and decided that she needed just one more item before she was ready to go. She went back to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were five little bottles lined up, filled with a viscous liquid, swirling green and purple and red, and occasionally flashing brightly as though lightning was striking inside. She removed one of them, and felt the heat of the potion through the unbreakable glass vial. This was an emergency-only measure, and one she sincerely hoped never to have to use. 

Magical Replenishment Serum would restore forty percent of her magical reserves if the trip took her too far down, but the side effects were debilitating, causing intense nausea and vomiting, stomach cramping so hard that if the user wasn’t hanging their head over the toilet, they were sitting on it, helplessly emptying their system into it from the other end. The effects lasted for two days, and could cause death if one didn’t stay properly hydrated during the assault. 

The little sparking bottle was tucked securely into a padded box that locked securely with a hiss when closed. This last item was carefully stowed in her bag, and after swapping her Walnut wand with the Apple one, she was ready to go. 

She threw her cloak over her shoulders, buttoning it up against the cold November wind she would soon be facing. The bag was stowed in a deep inner pocket of the cloak, and she reached up to grip the Crystal where it rested against her chest. “The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Six o’clock PM. The Fourteenth of November, Nineteen Forty-Six. _Ausafr!_ ” 

Fifty-eight years earlier, she appeared in the main room of the Wizarding Pub. She was steady on her feet for a minute, smiling at a surprised Mairead and raising a hand in a friendly wave. Then the room began to spin, and as she fell to the floor, she mumbled out “Bother” before succumbing to the darkness. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Blurry images began to surface, and cool hands were smoothing red hair out of her face, murmuring gentle words of comfort. “Minerva?” she managed to scratch out questioningly. 

“Nay, lass. It’s Mairead.” The innkeeper’s voice was soft and gentle. “You may want to rethink all this long-distance apparition, Miss Stewart. It’s really not very healthy.” 

Morgan’s eyes began to focus, and she noticed she wasn’t in the back room like the last time. “Where…” she was hit with a coughing spell that lasted several long seconds, “am I?” 

“Upstairs, in the room you had last time. I figured you’d be needing a room for the night again to recover, so I went ahead and brought you up here.” Her hands were still softly stroking Morgan’s face and carding through the loose front strands of her hair. “Are you feeling better, then? Do you need anything?” 

She wheezed out “Water” in the middle of another coughing fit, sitting up to alleviate the pressure on her chest. A cold glass of water was pressed into her hand, and she took a couple small sips, feeling blessed relief flood her throat with the cool liquid. The coughing having stopped, she took another, larger sip from the glass, feeling about a thousand percent better. She breathed in deeply and faced the older witch sitting on the edge of the bed. “Thank you so much, Madam Mairead. I _am_ in need of a room for the night, and I’m thankful to you for it. I’ll be able to pay you for its use tomorrow.” 

“Of course, dear one. There’s no rush.” She smiled warmly at Morgan before adding, “At least you didn’t lose your memory this time.” Morgan chuckled lightly, joined by the musical laughter of her companion. “Being serious, dear, you do need to be careful with the long-distance apparition. Your core gets drained so badly every time you make a big jump like this. You don’t want to empty it completely. It’s quite dangerous.” 

“I know, but I’m careful to make sure I’m fully charged before I go so far, and if there was any other way to do it, I would. Unfortunately, I don’t have any alternative.” She tried justifying her actions, hoping her new friend would accept the excuse. 

“Aye, well, just you be careful.” Mairead’s finger affectionately chucked under Morgan’s chin. “I don’t like seeing you collapse every time you come for a visit, young lady.” 

“I will,” Morgan beamed up at her new friend. 

Having made sure Morgan was going to be fine, Mairead stood and shook her robes straight. “I need to get back downstairs now. Do you need anything else? Something to eat or drink?” 

“No, I’m fine, but I do have a question. If you had some rare potions ingredients to sell and wanted to get the best price with the most privacy, where would you go?” 

The wispy blonde stood and looked down at the redhead earnestly, trying to judge her character. “You realize you’d have to patronize Knockturn Alley for that kind of discretion, don’t you?” Morgan nodded her assent. “You could do worse, I suppose, than Hackney’s. The old fellow’s been in business for ages, and if I recall correctly, he doesn’t keep records so that he can offer the silence it seems you require.” 

“Do you trust him to give a fair price if the product is of good enough quality?” She needed to get as much as possible to jump-start her ‘get along in the past’ fund. 

Mairead’s eyes narrowed a bit, “Of course. I wouldn’t have mentioned him if I didn’t believe you’d get what whatever you have is worth. May I inquire as to what you’re trying to sell, dear?” 

Morgan began to shift uncomfortably on the bed. “I’m not sure I should tell anyone. It isn’t that I don’t trust you, because I do, but … it’s a volatile product that I hope I will no longer have in my possession after tomorrow morning.” 

“No, I insist. I assume you have it here with you somewhere, and if it’s something that rare and volatile, that usually means it’s dangerous, and I won’t have anything that dangerous in my inn overnight.” Her normally pleasant voice now had a razor-sharp edge to it at the thought of protecting not only her patrons and guests, but also her young daughter. 

“I…” 

“No, Miss Stewart, you don’t understand. Rosie sleeps downstairs with me. I will not have whatever this thing is on my premises unless I at least know what it is.” 

Morgan gave in, knowing she had nowhere else she could go until she had some money in her pocket. “It’s Basilisk parts. Skin, Venom, Fangs, and various organs used for some rare and valuable potions.” 

The violet eyes widened exponentially, as she breathed out incredulously, stepping back, “You … you killed a Basilisk? And you have all its valuable bits here with you? _Where_?” 

“Safely packed away in sealed, unbreakable containers, and stowed in a bag with an undetectable extension charm on it. There’s no risk of anything here getting damaged, and no danger to anyone.” Morgan was getting worried about Mairead’s reaction. “As to your first question, no, I didn’t kill it. Someone else on my team had that dubious pleasure, and we all shared in the spoils for tracking it down. They’re quite rare to find fully grown.” 

“Indeed, they are.” She stammered out her next words. “Well, if you’re certain it’s absolutely safe, then I’ll bow to your judgment on the matter, but I don’t want it back here after you leave with it in the morning. It’s too dangerous to keep around. I don’t even want to think about what certain people would do if they heard you had it up here.” She shuddered uncontrollably. “I’ll be downstairs for some time if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

She crossed to the door, opening it. 

“Good night, and thank you for the room and the information. All the …stuff will be gone tomorrow.” 

“Good night, Miss Stewart.” The door snicked closed behind her, and Morgan was left alone with her thoughts. She cast a quick diagnostic spell, seeing that her reserves were at forty-five percent. _Five percent better than my first jump. That’s good._  

Still feeling very sleepy and not wanting to get up, she transfigured her clothes into loose-fitting pajamas, her cloak having already been removed and hung from a peg by the door. Another flick of the wand and her hair was freed from its bun, resting in the magically secured braid she normally slept in. She pulled the blanket and top sheet down and snuggled into the bed, stashing her wand under the pillow. A wave of her hand doused all the hanging lanterns, plunging the room into darkness. 

Lulled by the magical depletion, the warm comfortable bed, and the thought of seeing her Min the next day, Morgan fell quickly into a deep sleep. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

She woke early the next morning, staring at a pair of big blue eyes. “Hi. Mo’gan. Hi!” Her childish voice dragged out the second hi for several seconds. 

“Rosie, my lass! Good morning!” She smiled brightly at the toddler, pushing herself upright in the bed. Rosie climbed up into the bed, giving Morgan as tight a hug as she could, her soft baby curls brushing Morgan’s cheek as she tucked her head into Morgan’s shoulder. The hug was enthusiastically returned and held until Rosie started wriggling around. “I didn’t think I’d see you so early, sweetheart, but I’m awfully glad I did. That’s the best way to wake up in the whole world.” Morgan drawled out the ‘o’ sounds in whole and world, emphasizing them for the little tot. 

“Now, I bet your Mummy doesn’t know you’re up here with me, so why don’t we go find her before she gets worried, hmm?” Morgan grabbed her wand and quickly untransfigured her clothes before smoothing her braid down quickly. Holstering the wand at her waist, Morgan bent down and scooped Rosie into her arms, settling her gently on her left hip, opposite the wand holster. The two of them babbled their way downstairs, Rosie shrieking with laughter when Morgan would grab her belly and tickle it. At the bottom of the stairway, she started wiggling to get down, and once she gained her feet, she ran off giggling toward the back room, yelling “Mummy! Mummy! Mo’gan here! I find her, Mummy!” 

Morgan could make out Mairead’s voice from the back, frantic with worry. “Rosie! Where were you? Mummy was worried sick!” 

Morgan made her way toward the sound of their voices and apologized. “I’m sorry, Madam Mairead. I guess I forgot to lock my door last night. She was staring at me when I woke up, but I brought her right back down.” 

As she turned the last corner, she saw Mairead kneeling on the ground, arms tightly wrapped around her daughter, violet eyes wet with tears. “Miss Stewart. Thank you! I didn’t know what to think when I woke up and she wasn’t there.” 

“It was no trouble. She’s very sweet.” Morgan smiled down at the toddler, safely ensconced in her mother’s arms. 

“She’s a holy terror is what she is. Always running off to Merlin-knows where. What if it had been someone else in that room?” The worry was washing off of the innkeeper in waves. 

Morgan thought about how Muggles kept track of their children during the day when they were busy back in her time, and began planning something in her mind, putting her wand into her hand. She visualized very smooth, very dark wood, polished to a high shine. Four long, thin, but strong legs, connected by two rounded pieces, surrounding the legs at the top and bottom, fastened together by permanent sticking charms. The bottoms of the four legs were extended and rounded out to form sturdy feet. 

Thinking about the available materials of the time, she decided to use the same thin silk used for the pretty stockings she had brought, and surrounded the inside of the wooden frame from top rim to bottom, again using permanent sticking charms to fix the strong see-through material to the wood. She visualized more of the polished wood in slats, fitting tightly together to give a sturdy bottom. She made sure the legs and material were tall enough that Rosie couldn’t easily climb out, but short enough that Mairead would have no trouble leaning over to pick the child up if she was sleeping. 

Everything perfectly visualized in her mind, she closed her eyes and started swishing her wand around in the appropriate motions to conjure the creation into being. Once finished, she opened her eyes and saw the perfect combination of Muggle and Wizarding worlds in this wood and silk playpen. Another quick wave of her wand put a dirt and water-repelling charm on it, protecting the materials from accruing dust or food and drink particles, as young children tend to get their things very dirty. 

For the last bit, she visualized a thick, cushy quilt in a mixture of bright primary colors and soft pastels, put together in a beautiful design, imitating a bright sun above a busy meadow on one half, while the other half had a midnight-blue background with a full moon and several twinkling stars, set above the same, calmer meadow in the night-time scene. Again closing her eyes and swishing her wand around, the quilt appeared in the bottom of the playpen, softening the bottom’s cold, hard wood. 

To make it easier to move around as necessary, she cast a permanent feather-light charm on her creation, and permanent cushioning charms on all the hard pieces to prevent injury from inevitable falls. 

Her golden-brown eyes opened and surveyed what she’d wrought from nothing. It was perfect. She grinned as she looked down at the quilt. The day-side had butterflies fluttering around and little bunnies hopping around, munching on clover. The night-side had fireflies and deer, doing much the same animation as the day-side. 

Satisfied with what she’d made, she turned and squatted down in front of it, holding her arms out for Rosie, who ran willingly over to her. “Now, precious, this is a present for you and for your Mummy, yeah? It’s a place you can nap and play without the risk of you running off to someone who isn’t as kind as your Mummy and I are.” She stood and set the child down into the playpen. Rosie was entranced by the animated quilt for a moment before standing and yelling, “Mummy. Toys? Bring me toys? Peeze? I play good.” 

Mairead stood and walked over to inspect the …thing that had been made for her child. “She won’t get hurt in this? It feels a bit like a dog cage without a top.” She frowned a bit at the thought, but her eyes were soft as she ran her fingers over the flawlessly smooth wood of the upper rim. 

“No, there are permanent cushioning charms on anything hard, a feather-light charm so you can move it wherever you need it without throwing out your back, and dirt and water repelling charms to keep it clean, even if she eats inside it. Anything she spills will divert to the garbage can for disposal.” Morgan explained the details. 

Surprise lit up Mairead’s face at the intricacies of the charm work done, the frown disappearing. “You must be very advanced to create something so beautiful and functional. Thank you. This will be immeasurably helpful in keeping her corralled.” 

“You’re very welcome. I do hold Mastery status in both Transfiguration and Charms, and my work allows me a great deal of freedom to exercise both disciplines. I’ve seen several of my Muggle neighbors use a similar contraption and thought it might be useful, especially with the magical additions I made.” Her actual work with the DRCMC allowed her no such freedom, but her assumed job as an Unspeakable would probably have done so. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to wash up and go see Master Hackney. I have a promise to fulfill.” Morgan nodded to the older witch and went back up to get ready for her day. 

Mairead watched her go, feeling badly for the way she’d acted the night before, but still wanting the bits of Basilisk out of her establishment. 

“Mummy? Toys? Peeze, Mummy?” Her daughter’s sweet voice floated up to her, softening her features to a smile. 

“Of course, darling. Mummy will bring them right back.” She turned and summoned Rosie’s two favorite soft toys from their room, placing them into the playpen. Rosie sat and babbled with her toys, completely consumed by the novelty of the quilt and her toys. 

Mairead shook her head happily and set about starting breakfast for both her family and for the guests in residence. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Morgan showered, brushed her teeth, and set about fixing herself up to look publicly presentable. She added a tint of red to her lips, and a touch of black around her eyelashes. She put her red and blonde locks back into the same bun with loose strands she’d been using, and chose an outfit that was tasteful, and more on the Wizarding side of fashion than the Muggle. Her robes were fitted at the top, sleeves reaching her wrists before coming out onto the back of her hand in a vee-shape, flaring out in the skirt, the whole thing a deep shade of blue. She laced up the low-heeled boots, and topped it with her heavy cloak, adding a loose cowl to the back that she could drape over her head to protect her ears from the wind and her hair from the snow. 

She made sure the beaded bag was securely tucked into the inner pocket of her cloak, clipped her wand into its holster, and manually buttoned up the front of the cloak, using the cleverly hidden reversed buttons. Properly covered and ready to face her day, she made her way down the stairs and outside, apparating away to Diagon Alley with a quick turn. 

Appearing seconds later just outside the back entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, she carefully walked through the center of the Magical world in Great Britain, stopping at the entrance to Knockturn Alley to breathe deeply, preparing to enter the shadier side of her world. 

Where Diagon Alley had been bright and cheerful in the frosty early morning, Knockturn Alley was darker, dirtier, and had a seedier aura. Not wanting to give anyone the idea that she didn’t belong there, she kept her face forward and down a little, her eyes wandering without giving any hint that they were doing so. They raced over signs and windows, searching for the name Mairead had given her, and finally happened upon it, about halfway down, close to Borgin and Burkes. She stepped through the door and pushed the cowl away from her face, allowing it to fall down her back. She didn’t see anyone at first, so she hesitantly called out, “Master Hackney?” 

The shelves around her were filled with bottles and jars and vials, containing either ingredients for potion-making, or already completed potions to remedy common ailments: Headache Lifter, Pepper-Up, Burn Paste, Boil Cure, and Calming Draughts. There were some not so common potions as well. Prepared Polyjuice, ready for the user to add hair into and become someone else for an hour. Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent. _This must be where Hagrid bought his the day he found Harry outside Borgin and Burkes._ Dreamless Sleep, inky black in its small bottles. And Doxycide, very helpful when cleaning houses which had sat empty for some time. 

There were more prepared potions, and loads upon loads of various ingredients, all waiting for the discerning customer to purchase, but as Morgan had something to sell, she needed to find the proprietor. She called out again, “Master Hackney? Hello? Is anyone here?” 

A rather wizened old fellow, thin as a rail, with no hair left on his head, but still maintaining an impressively long white beard, popped up from behind the counter, his back still hunched just a little from old age. “I’m sorry, dear. Didn’t hear the bell ring when you came in.” 

“There wasn’t a bell.” Morgan offered. 

“Ah, that’ll be why I didn’t hear it then. In any case, what can old Hackney do for you?” He pulled himself up into a backed-stool and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the glass case which made up the counter. 

“I have some ingredients to sell, and I was told you might be able to take them off my hands.” Morgan inserted a bit of haughtiness in her voice, trying to impress an air of pure-bloodedness onto the old man, hoping for a better price if he thought she wasn’t a Muggle-born. Knockturn Alley wasn’t the best place to find pro-Muggle sentiments. 

“Of course, of course, Miss…?” There was a gleam in his eyes at the thought of negotiating a good deal. 

“Stewart. Now, before I go to the trouble of bringing everything out, I need to know if you trade in Basilisk. If not, I’m wasting my time.” She sniffed indignantly, trying to sound like she’d always heard the Malfoys speak when doing business. 

“Basilisk, Miss Stewart? It’s not an ingredient we get often, but yes, we deal in the material when it’s available.” The golden gleam in his eyes expanded, stretching his thin lips in a broad smile. He never expected that kind of windfall to come his way. 

“Fine then.” She drew her wand and undid the buttons holding her cloak closed with a gentle tap to the top one. The little bag was pulled from her inner pocket, and at its appearance, she could see a frown cross his face. “Appearances can be deceiving, Master Hackney. Don’t discourage yet.” 

Holding the bag open with her left hand, she used her wand to wordlessly summon the containers, watching as his frown disappeared and his eyes widened as each container stacked on top of his counter. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he thought about the profit contained in these glass bowls. He could see several packages of properly-cared-for skin, one large container holding stacks of proofed vials of venom, and another few holding pristine fangs. 

There was the liver, the heart, the kidneys, even the damaged eyes. The bounty of parts and pieces of Basilisk on his counter was worth thousands upon thousands of galleons, if stored correctly to maintain the freshness. Oh, goodness, was that the _brain_? He started internally calculating the profits he could make, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head as the toll rose and rose. He only hoped this snobby witch was stupid and didn’t know how much it was all worth. 

Finally, all the containers were laid out, and he estimated that the cache was actually worth about twenty thousand galleons, and his profit would be far, far above that. If he could get it for the right price, he would never have to work again, although boredom would probably keep him here until the end of his days. 

“Now, Master Hackney, I’m sure you recognize the true value of what I’m presenting to you, and I’m willing to part with every bit of it, if you’re willing to not only pay me what it’s worth, but also to never reveal where it came from. I came to you because I was told you keep no written records, and would never divulge my name as a source. I trust this is the case?” 

“Of course, Madam, of course. On first glance, I would estimate this is worth about twelve thousand galleons to you, leaving myself enough profit to counter the risks of selling it.” 

She could see in his eyes that it wasn’t nearly enough. “Master Hackney. You are insulting me with that lowball price. We both know that nobody else has anything to do with Basilisks on their shelves right now, and you can charge whatever you want for every little piece, every little crease of skin. Now, give me a reasonable offer, or I’ll pack it all back up, obliviate you, and leave. I’m sure Mister Slug or Mister Jigger would be happy to have this, and willing to offer a fair price as well.” There was ice in her voice. Yes, twelve thousand galleons was a bloody fortune, especially in 1946, but she would not be cheated. 

His face fell with her biting words, quickly stammering out, “No, Miss, no, you don’t want those upstarts to get their hands on this! They’ll fill out paperwork! Your name would be all over everything! Old Hackney knows how to keep things quiet, you ask anyone. But, Miss, you can’t fault me for trying, can you? Now, I can offer you eighteen thousand, and that’s the most I can pay. Even with what I’ll end up making, I don’t have any more than that.” 

“Eighteen.” She let the number roll off her tongue, assessing his body language and seeing that it was probably worth just a bit more, but eighteen thousand galleons was roughly ninety thousand Muggle Pounds, and with inflation to 2005… It was a small fortune, even if she didn’t go through with her investment ideas. To think, she’d been worried about paying back the cost of her Apprenticeships. 

Eyeing the nervous man, she extended her hand toward him around the stacks of containers. “I believe we have a deal, Master Hackney. Eighteen thousand galleons will be adequate.” She paused for a moment. “And you may keep the glass containers. Each one is charmed to be unbreakable, and has a permanent Stasis Charm to prevent the precious ingredients from spoiling.” 

He eagerly shook her hand. “Will a draft from Gringotts be sufficient for payment? For obvious reasons, I don’t keep that kind of cash on hand.” 

“I suppose that will do, then.” She pursed her lips tightly, looking down at him over her nose. His exuberance seemed to wilt away under the glare, as he reached into the drawer under the till for some parchment. 

“And to whom shall I make out the draft?” He looked up at her, readying his quill. 

“Just make it out to the bearer of the note. I shall assume they will be able to contact you to confirm the validity of the cheque?” She had shifted her gaze to her hand, inspecting her fingernails, while she waited. Morgan was inwardly very nervous about the persona she had adopted, but seemed to be pulling it off flawlessly. 

“Of course. No written records.” He bent his head back to the parchment, the quill scratching away. After a moment, he set the quill aside and dried the ink with a quick spell before folding it, dripping a bright yellow wax onto the seam, before pressing his seal into the molten glob, marking it as officially having come from him. Another charm had the wax cooled and set, and he handed the folded parchment over into her waiting hand. 

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss. Thank you for choosing Silvanus Hackney as your Apothecary today, and I trust that if you ever have anything else you need to sell, you’ll remember that you got a fair deal?” 

She tucked the letter into her pocket along with her bag, using her wand to button the cloak back up before clipping it back in place. 

“Of course, Master Hackney. Thank you.” She nodded imperiously and turned to leave. She made her way directly to Gringotts and asked to speak with someone in charge of opening new vault accounts. 

She hadn’t dropped the persona since leaving the apothecary, finding that her confidence increased by its use. It was just another layer to her glamours, allowing her to pass unnoticed through the Wizarding World of sixty years before her time. 

She waited only a couple minutes before a tall Goblin came out to meet her, his nose long and hooked. He spoke with a clear, deep voice, free of the snarls and growls one normally associated with bank employees, though there was still an air of hauteur about him. “I am Ragnok, and I have been told that you wish to open a vault today?” 

“Yes, Master Ragnok. I am in possession of a sealed draft which should provide me with more than enough to justify the stellar security for which Gringotts is known.” She saw surprise slightly register in his dark eyes at her form of address, making a note to continue using it. She hadn’t meant to, as he hadn’t introduced himself with a title, but after dealing with the Apothecary, it had been on the tip of her tongue. 

“Very well. May I see your draft, Madam?” He held a hand out to receive the bit of parchment. She passed it to him, and after breaking the seal and reading through its contents, a feral smile showed his sharpened teeth to her. “There is no name on this draft, Madam, so we will need to contact the issuer to ensure its validity, and send someone down to verify the availability of the funds. After that, I see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to set you up with a vault. Do you know what security level you are seeking?” 

“I would like something a bit better than the Blacks or Potters, but perhaps not quite as deep as the Dragons’ lairs. Will that be possible?” She began slowly dropping the pureblood persona. The Goblins of Gringotts would know her blood status if she didn’t already have access to a family vault. 

“Of course, Madam. May I have your name to begin the paperwork while we’re waiting for the verifications?” He was still greedily looking at the amount written on the letter she’d handed him. 

“Stewart. Morgan Stewart. Thank you, Master Ragnok. It means much that you are willing to help establish my account.” 

“Madam Stewart.” He nodded respectfully, returning her titled address. “If you could just come this way, we have a private waiting room for you while we complete the requisite paperwork and security steps.” He held a hand out simply to gesture in the correct direction, and was again shocked when she rested her hand on his arm to be escorted. This was not normal behavior for witches of this time, although it was not unwelcome. He bent his arm, tucking her hand into the crease of his elbow, their heights being nearly the same, making the process easy and the look seamless. 

He escorted her into the same private waiting room where he would meet Minerva fifty-three years in the future, and left her with a pot of tea, every courtesy being extended to this most polite of witches Ragnok had ever met in his long life. 

From the moment he closed the door behind him, he was running and snapping, trying to get everything done as quickly as possible. One junior-level Goblin whose name Ragnok couldn’t remember was sent over to Hackney’s Apothecary to verify the draft. Another, who Ragnok thought was Grip-something, was sent down to assure that the funds were available to be transferred. He climbed into his own desk and began searching for open vaults he could assign to her. More secure than the Blacks and Potters would mean something lower than the 700s, as the Black family owned Vault 711, and the Potters were up in 825. Ah, there was a recent opening on the 600 block, and another down on 500. The Dragons’ lairs began in the 400 block, so she might pass on the lower of the two, but he would give her the choice between Vault 600 and Vault 540. 

He picked up a self-inking quill and began filling out the request forms, skipping over the portions he didn’t know, but filling in the rest. Grip-whatever came back, verifying that the funds were there, although it would nearly clean out the man’s own vault. That, he told the younger Goblin, was none of their concern, as long as the draft was valid. A moment later, the other Goblin returned and said that Hackney had confirmed that he had written out the note. 

Everything was now in place, and Ragnok shoved the mostly-completed papers into a folder, snapping the folder to a clipboard. He took the clipboard and his self-inking quill with him as he rushed back to where he had left Madam Stewart. He paused outside the door for a moment, calming himself. He ran a hand over his hair, slicking it back down, then opened the door. 

Morgan had waited patiently, sipping at her cup of tea, and was surprised to see the tall Goblin return so quickly. “Has everything been verified already, Master Ragnok? I admit I expected it to take a bit longer. I have always been told of the slow and surly nature of Goblins, but I’m finding this an extraordinarily pleasant experience.” 

He stopped inside the door, closing it behind him, his eyes blinking incredulously at the statement she made. “We are happy that you are pleased with your Gringotts experience, Madam Stewart. We have just a few things to cover and then we can take you down to your new vault.” He climbed into the second chair, propping the clipboard against its arm as he removed the papers from the folder. 

“Of course. Would you like a cup of tea? It was brewed excellently by whomever provided it.” 

He found himself again surprised. Witches and Wizards didn’t offer to share food or drink with Goblins. “No, thank you, Madam Stewart. I prefer coffee when I can get it, and do not care for tea as a substitute.” 

She was sitting back in her chair, posture relaxed as she sipped at the tea. “Now, what do we have left to do? I assume everything checked out.” 

“Indeed it did, Madam. Before we can go any further, we will need for you to choose your new vault number. I have two available that fit your security needs. Vault 600 is spacious, and two levels below the Black family vault. Vault 540 is two levels further down, but our Dragon-guarded vaults begin just one level below, and as you stated that you did not care for quite that much security, I thought you might prefer Vault 600.” 

“I think you’ll find that you’re correct. I don’t want to be so close to the Dragons, so Vault 600 will be perfect.” She was completely relaxed, which was the antithesis of how most people approached business with Goblins. Ragnok was finding himself completely enchanted by this unique witch. 

“There are yearly fees associated with vaults that deep, and for Vault 600, the fee is fifty galleons per annum. Is that acceptable to you?” 

“Oh, no, that’s not acceptable at all.” 

He could feel his dander rising, and started to speak, “Now, Madam…” He found himself cut off before he could finish. 

“No, that’s not enough for what you’re doing to ensure the safety of my money and valuables. No. It must be seventy-five. I won’t pay a knut less.” 

His jaw snapped shut. She was offering to pay _more_? “This is highly irregular, Madam.” 

“Irregular or not, you will make it happen, won’t you, Master Ragnok?” 

He shook his head lightly. Witches were crazier than he’d thought. “If that is what Madam wishes.” 

“It is. Now, is there anything else?” 

“No, Madam. It will take only a few more moments to transfer the gold from one vault to the other, and then we can take you down to set your key.” 

“I do have one tiny request, Master Ragnok. By necessity, I wear a series of glamours, and I will require the ability to keep them as I go down into my vault.” 

“I believe that can be arranged.” 

“Thank you. I believe I’ll just have another cup of tea while you finish up.” 

He bowed deeply before leaving the room. As it closed behind him, Morgan snickered softly. She was hopelessly manipulating the poor Goblins so that she could ensure her later reentry to the bank as Hermione. In her own time, she was under a permanent ban for breaking in to steal from the Lestrange’s vault. However, if she built a good enough relationship with the Goblins, she might be able to eventually use the Morgan persona and fix that. 

It wasn’t all manipulation, of course. She really did respect the Goblins as one of the intelligent races that were normally subjected to horrible discrimination. She didn’t agree with their treatment of the Dragons they used to guard the high-security vaults, but she couldn’t do anything about that in this time. The Dragons had to still be in use when she did eventually break in, so they could free one and escape. 

She had just finished off her cup of tea when the door opened again, admitting Ragnok, who bowed again after closing the door. 

“Is everything set?” She asked cheerfully. 

“Yes, Madam. If you would just sign these documents, your gold has been added to the vault, and we can head on down.” 

She signed her assumed name with a flourish, and the sheets of parchment disappeared, automatically being filed away upon completion. 

“Very good, Madam. Now we can go down and affix your magical signature to the key and the door, establishing entrance protocols.” He hesitantly offered his arm as she stood, and she accepted it gracefully, the two falling into step together as they made their way to the cart station. A hair-raising ride later, they arrived at the platform bordering Vaults 600 through 609. He stepped out first, offering his hand to help her out of the cart. 

“Thank you, Master Ragnok.” 

He was still adjusting to the respect she was giving, and couldn’t formulate a response. He led her down to the door of the vault, the stone that made up the door crumbling in places, not looking like it would hold up to much if someone tried to break in. 

Her lips twitched in a very Minerva-like manner, and she murmured, “Oh, this just won’t do.” He was startled when she pulled out her wand, and stood still for a moment before closing her eyes and waving her wand in complicated swirls and patterns. Before he could interject that magic was impossible this far down, he saw the crumbling stone begin to solidify again, becoming strong before it started to change from stone into a matte-finished dark metal. If not for the curve of his nose, his jaw would have hit the ground as she not only did magic, but did very advanced magic on Gringotts property. 

After just a moment, the old crumbly stone was gone, replaced by strong, thick metal. The numerical marking on the door had also disappeared, replaced with glittering golden script, spelling out Vault Six-Hundred. There remained under the script, a small keyhole, glowing as it waited for the key to be set. 

He watched as golden-brown eyes opened and surveyed her work. He wordlessly handed over the blank key, and she inserted it into the lock, completing the required steps to take ownership of the vault. At her gentle touch, the doors swung noiselessly open. There was a golden hoard waiting inside on the stone floor. She nodded. This would do. Reaching down, she counted out fifty golden coins, throwing them into the bag she’d pulled out of her pocket. Now she had some pin money, and there was only one thing left to do. 

“Master Ragnok?” She called back to the door, where he was waiting. 

“Yes, Madam Stewart? Is everything satisfactory?” 

“Oh, yes, this is all perfect. Thank you, again, for getting everything done so quickly. I just have some investments I’d like to make, and I wonder if you could help me. If that’s not within your purview, I understand, but perhaps in that case, you could direct me to a solicitor who could do so?” 

His chest swelled up in pride. “I would be happy to make whatever arrangements you need, Madam.” 

“Oh, Master Ragnok, I believe you’re my new savior. You’ve done so much for me today. Thank you!” Before he could think to try and stop it, she had crossed the room to where he stood and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Unused to this type of behavior, he awkwardly patted her back, not knowing where to put his hands or what to do. After a moment, she released him and began striding back to the cart. He was about to remind her to lock the vault back up when she stopped, grinned at him, and snapped her fingers, the doors swinging back out to seal themselves with a flash of light. She stepped into the cart and sat down, waiting for the Goblin to join her. 

No, Ragnok had never met a witch like this before. He found he quite liked it. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Forty-five minutes later found her vault a bit emptier, but still comfortably full, her financial future all but assured. If she kept researching the business world from a future stand point, she would take it all by storm. Invest in things when they need the startup cash, requesting a small percentage of all future profits, then sit back and enjoy the good life once all the time travelling was over. 

Having to fill out the paperwork with her assumed name earlier, she realized that she’d just taken for granted that she was the only Morgan Stewart. What if she’d interrupted Minerva on her way to meet the real one? She knew somewhere inside that it was difficult to think that way, because of her experience with Time Turners in Third Year. She’d seen the effects of her trip back with Harry before she knew she’d be making it. Harry had assumed when he first saw the Stag Patronus that it was his dad’s, and had been bitterly disappointed to find that it had been his own as a result of a short jump back. That was how time travel worked. You couldn’t really change anything, because if you decided to go back, you had already seen the after effects. 

But… if she was the only Morgan Stewart, where had the name come from other than Minerva’s admissions? Stewart could be a play on her dad’s real name, Gilbert Stuart Granger. It’s possible she would have used that, to give herself some semblance of a Scottish background and a closer tie to Minerva, but Morgan? The only thing she could come up with was Merlin’s female counterpart, Morgana, or Morgan le Fay. It was a name so steeped in Wizarding history, nobody would ever think to question her magical abilities. 

She left the bank and stopped by a fresh flower stall to pick up three pristine red roses before apparating back to Hogsmeade. She hurried up to her room, dropping the roses on the end of the bed, and hanging her cloak up. She pulled the little bag from the cloak pocket and went back down to the main dining room. She ordered a bowl of stew and some warm, soft bread with a glass of Gillywater, the drink a nod to her time spent in the inn with Min on her last visit. 

After her lunch, she found Mairead and pulled out enough to pay for both stays, along with extra for the care she’d been given, the bottle of Gillywater they’d been handed on the last visit, and her meals. Then she gave the stunned innkeeper another five galleons and told her to put it away for Rosmerta. 

Morgan then found Rosie sleeping in the new playpen, snoring lightly, and making Morgan laugh at the cute factor of a snoring baby. She reached down and brushed the back of her index finger across the soft cheek just once before going back upstairs to gather her things. It was time to find Min. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Hermione's scars: No, she doesn't have the word "Mudblood" carved into her arm. That was a movie invention, and I'm doing my best to stay in book-verse. The only mention I could find of an injury bad enough to scar was Dolohov's attack in the DoM in OotP. I don't think it's explicitly stated that even that injury caused a permanent scar, but I think ten potions a day for ten days might still render a scar, even under Madam Pomfrey's capable care.
> 
> I spent a lot of this chapter on things I didn’t plan on going into so much detail for. I completely meant for Min to make an appearance, however that will be in the next chapter. Don’t worry, it won’t all move so slowly, but certain parts just might. 
> 
> From this point, I feel obligated to tell you that any time Hermione is in the past as Morgan, and she’s with Minerva the younger, there is the possibility for smut. I’m completely unconfident in my ability to write it well or convincingly, but the story is telling me that it’s coming. So if you open a chapter and see the warning “Here, there be Dragons,” be forewarned. It’s happening. I give you this subtle warning so that if you’re reading at work or whatever, it will have parts that are NSFW. Also, some people are prudish about le smut. I’d hate for you to skip an entire chapter for the sake of one scene, but if that’s how you feel, then I can’t stop you.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> I know, I know. It’s really weird to have 8900 story words and no sexy Scottish witch. But hopefully this chapter more than makes up for it. 
> 
> “Here, there be Dragons.” *coughs*
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva was bustling around Diagon Alley, getting her regular Friday shopping done. Master Ashmole only required four days of each week for her studies, so Friday was the day she always got everything done in preparation for her weekends off, as well as for the week to come. She had a little extra to do that day, readying herself for the next weekend, which would be the family celebration of Rob’s birthday. His actual birthday had been the day before, on the fourteenth, but they had decided to take advantage of the following weekend’s student excursion to Hogsmeade to bring the boys home overnight so they could have a proper party. 

Minerva had spoken with her mother earlier in the day, and was in charge of finding an appropriate gift, to be given from the family. Isobel would be making all the food, so the gift was her only responsibility. As she flitted from shop to shop, trying to find the perfect item for the sixteen year old, she began to feel a tickle at the base of her skull, setting her off-kilter. She looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary, dismissing the feeling as she rubbed a hand across her neck under the thick fall of her hair. 

The feeling didn’t go away, however. Instead, it grew rather stronger as the day and her search went on. She kept thinking she saw a silver flash at the edge of her vision, but when she would turn her head, there was nothing there. Her year spent on the continent, helping out with the war efforts, had honed her defensive skills, and she began looking around for opportunities to duck out of sight. 

Spotting an opening to a narrow side-alley ahead, she kept her careful pace until she drew up even with it, stepping quickly to the side and hiding in the tight space, watching to see who had been following her with her wand drawn and in fighting position. She was expecting to find a Dark witch or wizard, but was shocked to find a shining silver spider glide into the alley with her. It raised its front legs while lowering the ones in back, putting its body in a position to look up at her. She could see as the eyes assessed her before the mandibles parted and a low, husky voice issued forth. _Say hello to Charlotte, my messenger, Min. I’m assuming she’ll take a while to get you alone somewhere to deliver my message. I’m back and waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks. Come as soon as you can._  

Had that been Morgan’s voice? “Is this message from Morgan Stewart?” She didn’t know if she could or would receive a response, but when the front legs began raising and lowering in sequence, essentially nodding its head, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you been following me?” The same nodding motion followed her question. “Thank you, Charlotte. I shall see her very shortly then.” One final nod, and the ghostly spider burst into unfurling columns of smoke before disappearing completely. 

Weighing the benefits of getting Rob’s gift against the benefits of seeing Morgan, she decided to drop off her current stash of shopping and finish up with the gift later. She was ready to see Morgan. She disapparated on the spot, appearing a second later in her flat. She put the groceries and other items she’d purchased away and straightened up the rest of the flat, doing a quick touch-up on her hair. Instead of her normal braid, she pulled the top and sides back into a high plait, leaving the back loose with the thin braid resting on top.  The robes she’d worn for her errands were fine, close in style to the ones Morgan had worn that morning, but were a deep burgundy color, setting off the colors in her eyes and skin. The idea of soon seeing Morgan made her eyes shine brightly, further accentuating their clear green irises. 

She took one last glance around the flat to ensure it was ready to host company, and disapparated with a crack. Seconds later, she was walking into the pub, which was full from the late lunch crowd. She searched through the crowd and saw the red and blonde strands of Morgan’s hair in a back corner, a soft smile appearing on her face. She quickly crossed the room, and saw the red-head stand as she arrived, pulling each other into a tight embrace. 

“I missed you so much, Min.” The low voice against her ear made her shudder helplessly. 

“I missed you, too. I never knew four weeks could be so slow until now.” She closed her eyes tightly, breathing in the citrus and herb scents that made up Morgan’s personal aroma. 

“As much as I’m enjoying simply having you back in my arms, Min, shall we retire to somewhere more private? I find my lips itching with the need to feels yours, and while I would kiss you in front of the entire Wizarding population, I don’t think you would feel comfortable with that.” The timbre of Morgan’s voice along with the desire dripping off of it made that odd feeling in the pit of her stomach return with a vengeance. 

“My flat?” 

“Let’s go, then.” As Morgan’s arms loosened their grip, she darted her eyes around to be sure nobody was watching, and discreetly ran her tongue along the outer shell of Minerva’s ear before stepping away toward the door. 

Minerva was stunned by the move, and found herself unable to move for a second. Surely she should think that such a thing should be disgusting, but her ear was tingling, matching the growing heat low in her belly, having found that she thoroughly enjoyed the brief contact. She turned and almost ran, trying to catch up to a smirking Morgan, waiting just outside the front door. She saw as the older woman winked before disapparating with a quiet crack. Minerva followed suit, concentrating on her flat and appearing there to find Morgan waiting with that same knowing smirk on her face, and golden brown eyes filled with something Minerva couldn’t readily identify. The black cloak had been tossed carelessly over the back of her small sofa. 

“Can I kiss you now?” The low voice issued from lips glistening from having been moistened with the tip of a pink tongue. 

Without waiting to respond, Minerva swooped in, one hand on Morgan’s neck, the other on her cheek, their lips meeting hungrily, immediately opening to admit surging tongues. Morgan’s hands moved to the taller witch’s back, rubbing and caressing the taut muscles there, burying one hand in the loose waterfall of silky black hair. The tip of Morgan’s tongue traced the ridgeline in the roof of Minerva’s mouth, feeling how it made the younger woman shudder with unfulfilled desire. 

The left hand on her neck began to quest lower, sweeping over her neck and shoulder, sliding under her arm to skim over her ribcage, coming to rest on her waist. They pulled back, chests heaving while they fought to catch their breath, breasts rubbing against breasts through the cloth of their robes, causing them to both breathe even more erratically, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. 

Morgan’s free hand came up to gently cup Minerva’s face, thumb running gently over the jawbone. “Hi.” She grinned goofily before reaching over to brush her lips across Minerva’s a couple of times before pulling back, the grin returning. 

“You know, where I come from, the salutations come first, before the passionate kisses take place.” 

“Do they? I’ll have to remember that for the future. ‘Say hello to Min _before_ kissing her.’ Is that the way?” The grin had grown, turning back into a smirk. 

“I may be able to make an exception where you’re concerned.” She wiped the smirk off Morgan’s face the best way she knew how: she kissed it away, pulling the other woman closer, pressing their bodies flush against each other. She heard a quiet groan as the hand at Morgan’s waist moved around to the small of her back and then down a couple of inches to lightly press on a rounded cheek, the forwardness of the move surprising both of them. 

The feel of those long, thin fingers on her bum, combined with the lips ravaging her own and the pressure where her breasts were rubbing against Minerva’s caused a flood of moisture in her old-fashioned knickers. She pulled back from the kiss, resting her forehead against Minerva’s, and struggled to calm down and catch her breath. 

“Was that… did I do wrong?” Minerva was nibbling at her bottom lip, worried by Morgan’s reaction. 

“No, my darling, no. It was a little too right.” Her thumb was running over Minerva’s high cheekbone, but reached down to pull the tender lip free. “I just don’t want to move too fast for you. I’ve only just arrived, and I have a couple of weeks before I have to be back. We don’t have to rush right into bed because I’m here today. We have plenty of time.” She pressed a quick, gentle kiss to pouting lips before stepping back from the embrace, putting some necessary space between them. 

“Now, am I okay to stay here again, or do I need to extend my stay with Madam Mairead?” 

The abrupt change in the mood of the room threw Minerva off. “Oh, um, no, you can stay here. Of course. Unless you’d rather not.” 

“Of course I’d rather stay here, but I don’t want to cause any problems with your benefactor.” 

“Ah, no. He’s always said the reason I have a second bedroom is for people to use. Though you’re the only one who’s ever slept in it.” Her parents rarely left Sarclet, their home in the Highlands, (*) and the boys always went home during school holidays. She had a few friends from school, but apart from Pomona Sprout, they weren’t what one would call close, and even Pomona had never been to her flat. Morgan was the only visitor she’d had in the flat since she’d moved in the previous July. 

“Oh, so it’s _my_ room?” She teased lightly. 

“For now, yes, you can call it that.” 

“For now? Are you planning to kick me out soon, then?” 

“No, but I know you’ll have to leave again eventually, and then it’ll go back to being the guest room until you come back.” She had to think about the situation pragmatically. Morgan wasn’t there on a permanent basis, and she had to keep herself thinking that to avoid the inevitable heartbreak when she had to go again. 

Morgan’s mouth opened and closed a couple times, unable to find words to address this very real issue. Finally, she muttered sadly, “Well, I’m here now. Let’s go get me unpacked.” She picked up the cloak and went into the guest room. 

Minerva followed behind, feeling the hurt roll off the shoulders in front of her, knowing it was because of her comment, but also knowing that it was entirely true. 

Morgan was thinking the same thing. It was all her fault. It wasn’t anything over which she had any measure of control, but it still stung to think about it. She threw the cloak onto the bed, unclipping her wand and rifling through the pocket of her cloak for her bag. She unsnapped the clasp and tossed the bag onto the bed as well, summoning her hard blue suitcase from its depths, catching it easily in her free left hand, laying it on the bed on top of her cloak. 

Minerva sat on the opposite side of the bed, next to the cloak and bag, and was surprised to see such a large item come flying out of the small purse. She sneaked a peek, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was just a plain cloth purse, covered with colored beads, with a pink silk lining and a silver-colored metal top-clasp. She couldn’t see anything in there at all. 

Morgan waved her wand a few times, sending all the items from her now-open suitcase flying into the wardrobe, everything properly hung or folded and put away. The boots and shoes were lined up in the bottom, and the suitcase was stashed behind them, resting against the back wall. 

She saw Minerva’s quizzical expression as she stared into the bag, knowing she couldn’t see its endless space or any of its contents. Quietly, she summoned the small pouch holding the gold she’d retrieved from the bank earlier, almost giggling at the look on Minerva’s face as it came flying out to clink in her hand. 

“What…? Morgan, where did that come from? The purse is empty.” She was very confused. 

“Is it? I could swear there’s more in there.” She stepped closer to the bag and reached her hand in, seeing the shock register as her arm disappeared up to the shoulder before reappearing holding a stray knut. She giggled, unable to hold the secret back any longer. “Undetectable Extension Charm.” She muttered a few words under her breath, allowing Minerva in on the charm’s secrets. “Take another look, dearest.” 

Wary of the bag, Minerva did lean back over to peer into it, her eyes widening at the many things she could now see resting inside. “That’s amazing, Morgan. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

 _Shit. Have these charms been invented yet?_ She ran through the history that had been drilled into her brain by Mistress O’Neill during her training. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally remembered that the extension charms had been in use for several years by the time the war against Grindelwald had started. Even in her own time, they weren’t very widely utilized. 

 _Double shit. Did Minerva ever see me with this bag?_ She thought back over the years since she’d made the bag before heading out on the run. _No. She never saw it with me. Yet another part of my history which will now become Morgan’s. Remember never to show it to Minerva after I get back._  

“Thanks.” She smiled warmly at her would-be lover. Looking back through the little bag, she didn’t see anything else she needed, so she snapped the top closed and stashed it carefully in one of her drawers. 

“It’s the same theory behind school trunks or camping tents, though a different incantation is used. Standard extension charms expand the interior space of the item, but the effects are visible and usable by anyone who happens to peek inside. The undetectable version requires the item’s owner to grant others permission to see that there’s anything off about it. At times, sounds will escape the undetectable nature of the charms, but it’s fairly rare. Useful bit of magic, actually. Makes anything I shove in there weightless, as though I’m carrying the empty bag that everyone else sees.” Morgan lectured, her voice taking on the teaching aspect she’d had to use with Harry and Ron so often over the years of their friendship. 

Minerva sat and took in the information, nodding in understanding. “That must come in handy as an Unspeakable.” 

Morgan’s eye twitched slightly. “Indeed, it does. I get sent out on so many different types of missions and assignments, and it always pays to be prepared.” She reached down for her cloak, hanging it up and closing the wardrobe door. All of her belongings sorted out, she sat on the edge of her bed and lay back on the pillows, crossing her feet at the ankle. “Come here,” she asked, her right hand brushing over Minerva’s left where it was being used to prop herself up. Minerva worked around, snuggling down into Morgan’s arms, settling into the same position they’d been in when they had slept at the inn in Hogsmeade. 

As she had then, Minerva reached across to twine their fingers together, brushing the knuckle of Morgan’s thumb with her own, loving the way the older witch’s other hand skimmed up and down her side. She nestled her head on top of Morgan’s chest, the insistent _thump-thump_ of her heart comforting. Morgan’s right hand moved up and pulled the loose tresses free, running her fingers through the soft length over and over, making Minerva sigh in contentment. She placed a gentle kiss on top of her head before turning her face slightly, pressing her cheek against the spot she had just kissed. They lay like that, cuddling and enjoying the comfort of each other’s touch, for quite some time. 

“I like your hair this way. Free, yet confined at the same time, much like its owner.” Morgan’s voice was low and heavy, full of unspoken emotion. 

Minerva just hummed her agreement, drowsy and feeling very safe in the embrace. “Warm. Your hair’s like fire. Dangerous but so warm and safe. Love it.” She murmured, drifting off to sleep. “Love you.” Her breathing evened out as the last words tumbled from her mouth. Morgan kept carding her fingers through the softness of the long black locks, mulling over the sleepy admission. Would she remember when she woke? Did it even matter? She moved her hand to rest on Minerva’s waist and pressed another kiss to her head before giving in to sleep herself. She would worry about everything else later. For the time being, she was just happy to be back with her Min. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva roused a short time later, alone in her guest bed, the indentation next to her almost cold. She pushed herself up and called out, “Morgan?” 

“In here!” She heard from somewhere else in her flat. The shadows were deep, and the sun almost down. She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes, upset that she’d fallen asleep so easily in the daytime. She climbed from the bed and stepped out into the main room, noticing the cheerfully crackling fire and the mouth-watering aromas coming from her kitchen. 

“Are you cooking?” She walked toward the kitchen, Morgan popping her head around the corner to smile at her. 

“Yep. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m starving, and I figured you would be as well after you woke up from our little nap.” As Minerva stepped into the kitchen, Morgan kissed her lightly on the cheek, going back to stirring the contents of a pot. “There’s tea brewed if you want some.” 

“I think I just want some water,” she said, reaching for a glass from the cabinet before filling it with a quick _Aguamenti_. “What are you making?” she asked curiously. “It smells amazing.” 

“Just a quick Shepherd’s Pie. I wasn’t sure if you liked it or not, but it seems like the kind of thing everyone likes, so I went for it.” The ground lamb was browned, so Morgan dropped in a pat of butter, watching as it melted, then threw in a couple spoons of flour, stirring constantly to keep it from burning while the base for the gravy formed. 

“I love Shepherd’s Pie. No need to worry there.” Minerva finished off her glass of water and set it next down, noticing the mound of steaming boiled potatoes sitting in a colander in the sink. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“You can mash the potatoes if you want, but you don’t have to.” She poured in a generous amount of broth, leaning her head back to avoid a face full of the bubbling steam, keeping her hand moving to make a thick, creamy gravy for the pie filling. 

“I can do that.” Minerva grabbed a large bowl and poured the hot potatoes over into it, adding butter and a touch of cream along with salt and pepper, then began mashing the mixture together, forming a lump-free puree of potatoes. 

Morgan added more seasonings and a bowl of mixed vegetables to the gravy, turning the fire down underneath it to allow it to simmer long enough to start cooking the peas and carrots through. “Here, let me,” she said, reaching for the bowl of mashed potatoes. The texture and flavor were good, but she needed to add one more thing to make the perfect pie topping. She used her wand to set a small piece of white cheddar cheese to grating itself. 

They had been in companionable silence since discussing the potatoes, but as Minerva saw everything that was going into the pie, she frowned lightly. “I didn’t have all these things in here. I might have had a couple seedy potatoes, and I bought a few groceries this morning, but I know I didn’t have any lamb or cheese, or this many potatoes.” 

Morgan blushed lightly, dumping half of the now-shredded cheese into the potatoes, stirring to allow it to melt in. “I may have gone down the street to the Muggle shops to get what I needed.” 

The frown on Minerva’s face grew deeper. “What if I’d woken up while you were gone? I might have thought you had left for good.” She could feel the panic rising in her chest at the thought of waking alone, her hands gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Min. I promise. I left Charlotte to let you know if you woke up.” 

She could feel Morgan’s hand as it gripped her own where it was still tightly holding to the counter, and the touch began to calm her down. 

“Charlotte… the spider?” Morgan nodded, pulling her hand up to press a soft kiss to the back before releasing it to turn and stir the thick gravy. “What is Charlotte, Morgan? The only thing I’ve heard of with a similar appearance is a Patronus charm, and to my knowledge, those can’t be used as messengers.” 

 _Damn. I didn’t think about that. Dumbledore hasn’t invented the method yet because Voldemort isn’t a threat and there’s no Order. Think, Hermione, think!_ “It is a Patronus. Beyond that, I can’t say much. It’s a top-secret methodology only available to a select few Unspeakables right now.” _Bravo!_ She turned the fire off under the pot and poured its contents into a deep ceramic baking dish. 

“Do you think you could teach me? Not necessarily the messenger portion; I understand if that’s not possible, but just the Patronus itself.” She passed the bowl of potatoes over. 

Morgan started spreading the potatoes over the top of the baking dish, covering the hot filling. “You don’t know how to cast a Patronus?” 

“No, not yet. Professor Dumbledore was able to cast one, of course, but it’s not in the curriculum for Hogwarts, and I’m pursuing a Mastery in Transfiguration, not in Defense or Charms.” 

The rest of the cheese went on top of the potatoes along with some crushed dried parsley, and it went into the hot oven. Morgan then turned to face Minerva, who was looking nervously down at the counter. “Of course I can teach you. It’s much easier to learn than to cast in the presence of actual Dementors or Lethifolds, but I don’t see where you’ll have any trouble with it.” 

Minerva looked up from the counter. “Have you ever faced a Dementor or Lethifold?” 

Morgan stopped her efforts to gather the dirty dishes and looked Minerva in the eye. “Lethifold, no, thankfully. Dementors, though… yes. It’s … not pleasant. At the time, I hadn’t had much practice with the charm, and nearly failed to produce it in time.” Minerva could see the pain haunting her, the normally golden-brown of her eyes darkening to nearly black. “As I said, it’s much easier to cast without them around.” 

Minerva stretched out one hand and touched Morgan’s arm comfortingly. She didn’t know under what circumstances  the older woman had faced down Dementors and almost lost – she couldn’t bear to think about what would have happened if the charm hadn’t eventually worked – but she never wanted to see that look of pain on her face again. 

“I’m… I’ll be alright, Min.” 

“Will you?” 

A smile ghosted across Morgan’s face. “Of course I will. You’re here.” 

The hand on Morgan’s arm gripped tightly, pulling her into a close embrace. She returned the hug for several long, quiet minutes before stepping back, her eyes back to their normal golden color.  “Now, let’s get these dishes done so we can concentrate on eating when this thing’s ready to come out of the oven. Hmm?” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

They had done the dishes together, the Muggle way; Morgan washing in hot soapy water while Minerva rinsed in clean cool water before laying everything out on a clean towel. A couple quick charms had them dried and put away once everything had been washed. 

When the pie had finished, they’d sat down to share the meal together, washing down sumptuous Shepherd’s Pie with a glass of red wine. Their conversation was light and pleasant, Minerva filling Morgan in on her life during the weeks she’d been absent, and Morgan wishing she had been there. 

Morgan sent the leftover pie to the refrigerator under a mild stasis charm, and set the few remaining dishes to wash magically. They poured another glass of wine each and withdrew to the sofa, Minerva curling into the warmth of Morgan’s side, their conversation moving on to some of the Transfiguration theories Minerva had been learning. They continued in that way deep into the night, until a loud yawn issued from Minerva’s throat. Deciding to go ahead and get some sleep, they shared a brief, tender kiss before retiring to their separate beds for the night, both wishing silently that they could sleep together as they had for their earlier nap. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next morning found neither woman rested enough for the time spent in bed, both of them having tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable enough for deep sleep while knowing the reason lay in just the next room, separated only by a wall. Minerva was too scared to jinx the burgeoning relationship by being too needy, and Morgan didn’t want to rush things too much. 

Minerva woke from her thin sleep just before dawn. She had a quick shower, then wrapped herself in a thick robe to watch the sun finish rising while attending to her hair. She smiled, remembering Morgan’s compliment of the half-loose style she’d chosen for the previous day, but chose her regular thick, long braid for the morning, thinking she could always change it later if necessary. As the sun finished cresting, she softly padded from the bedroom into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, still wrapped in the thick, warm robe. 

She pulled out pots and pans and bowls, preferring to cook the Muggle way most of the time; the way her mother had taught her when she was growing up without magic. It calmed her to leave her wand put aside for a while sometimes. 

She filled one pot with enough water for porridge, and set it on high heat to boil, turning on the oven at the same time. Knowing the oats would take the longest to cook, she started preparing everything else while she waited. Pulling out a cutting board and a slab of bacon, she sliced off several thick rashers, setting them down into a glass baking dish, ready to bake once the oven finished heating. She wrapped the remaining slab of smoked and cured pork in the butcher’s paper, sealing it with a bit of spellotape and replacing it in the refrigerator. 

A quick _Scourgify_ had the knife and cutting board clean, and she used them to slice some thin pieces of bread for toast, buttering both sides and stacking the slices on a plate. Peering into the pot on the stove, she could see the water beginning to boil. She added some salt and a couple pats of butter, stirring until the salt was incorporated and the butter was melted before adding some of the steel-cut oats she kept on hand, stirring that in as well before turning the fire down and setting a lid over the pot. The glass dish went into the hot oven, and she pulled some fruit from the refrigerator to cut up. 

She made quick work of the apple and orange, putting half of each into two bowls; one for her and one for Morgan. Stirring the cooking oats, she knew she had a few minutes before anything else needed her attention. She carried the bowls out to the table and walked over to Morgan’s door, pressing her ear against it to see if she could hear signs of life from within. 

Hearing nothing, she cracked the door open and peeked in. Morgan was sprawled across the bed on her stomach, the covers having been tossed off in her fitful sleep. Minerva giggled at the sight of the grey and white striped men’s pajamas, but appreciated the view they offered, twisted tightly against the redhead’s lithe body. Her hair had been smoothed back into the normal sleep-braid, but several pieces had worked loose, and one was plastered firmly into Morgan’s open mouth. Her open and … drooling mouth. 

Minerva hadn’t expected to see the normally poised woman drooling all over her guest bed, and almost dissolved in a renewed fit of giggles. Pulling her wand from the deep pocket of her robe, she cleaned the drying saliva from Morgan’s cheek and the mattress underneath her before sitting on the edge of the bed. She bent down, her fingers pulling the abused lock of hair away, tucking it back behind her ear, before placing a soft kiss to the now-clean cheek. 

Morgan turned over at the contact and mumbled “M’n’rva” sleepily, her left arm throwing itself over her eyes to protect them from the morning light streaming into the room. 

Minerva temporarily lost the ability to breathe. Morgan muttering her name in her sleep was adorable, but what had stopped her was the pajama top. It was the kind that buttoned up the front, and several of the buttons had come undone with the fitful attempts to sleep alone. The few remaining fastened were stretched by the turn, gaping open and revealing the rosy peak of a breast through the expanded neckline. All moisture fled from Minerva’s mouth, and the hand that had just smoothed the hair from Morgan’s face couldn’t help but stretch itself to run the back of two fingers gently over the exposed swell of flesh. It was incredibly soft, and Minerva could see that the contact along with the cool air of the room was causing a reaction, drawing and tightening the nipple to a hard peak, the color deepening from a light pink to a darker red. 

She was so focused on that reaction that she didn’t see as Morgan’s breath hitched and her arm rose to her forehead, her eyes blinking blearily up at the unaware witch in her bed. Wanting to see what Minerva would dare next, she forced herself to stay absolutely still, giving no signs that she was awake. 

Minerva was fascinated by seeing what her touch had wrought, and brushed her fingers – oh, so softly – down the valley between the full breasts before coming back to the visible curve, gently exploring the new territory, her hand turning to press the underside of all four fingers and her palm to the softness of the outer side while her thumb brushed tenderly across the tight bud several times. 

Morgan couldn’t help but gasp lightly at the touch, and horrified green eyes rose to meet dark brown. “I, oh gods, I’m sorry!” Minerva snatched her hand back and fled back to the safety of the kitchen, her face a florid shade of red, embarrassment and shame washing over her in turns. She had enough presence of mind to stir the bubbling porridge, and cast a quick spell to turn the bacon over in the oven before tightly gripping the counter in front of her, her head falling forward so that her chin rested against her chest. 

“Please don’t, Min. You didn’t do anything I didn’t enjoy.” Morgan’s voice ghosted over her shoulder, and strong hands lightly gripped Minerva’s upper arms from behind. 

“Ye dinna understand, Morgan. My parents always drilled into our heads that any uninvited contact was the same as rape. ‘Twas aimed more at Malcolm and Rob than at me, but I was always told that if anyone treated me the way I have just treated you that I was to hex him where it hurts and run for help. I canna…” Tears were rolling down her cheeks, the emotional upheaval causing her Scottish heritage to be evident in her speech. Contractions were rolled with the same fluidity as the r sounds. 

Morgan’s hands drifted down to wrap themselves around her waist, pressing her chest against the sobbing woman’s back, and her cheek against a shaking shoulder. “Shh, Min. It wasn’t uninvited contact. It wasn’t rape. It was the best way I’ve been woken in quite some time. Please stop crying. Please.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m so verra sorry, Morgan. Please dinna hate me. I couldna bear that.” The harsh sobs were starting to choke her, and the words were hard to get out. 

“Oh, Min. I could never hate you. Never. You did no more to me this morning than I did before I left last time. Did you feel as though the contact was uninvited then? Do you feel as though I raped you?” 

“Well, no, but it wasna the same thing.” The crippling heaves of Minerva’s chest were calming a little with understanding, rendering her easier to understand. 

“It was exactly the same. If it helps, you have unlimited access to my body any time you want, Min, even if I’m asleep. I guarantee it’s the best possible method for pulling me from sleep and having me be happy to be awake.” Her voice remained soft and low, her cheek still pressed firmly against the shoulder in front of her, which was thankfully not shaking as hard as it had been when she’d first walked into the kitchen. 

“Truly? Ye dinna hate me?” 

“Impossible, darling. It’s absolutely impossible. I meant what I said. I could never hate you.” She could feel Minerva slumping forward in relief at her words, and dared to press a gentle kiss to the exposed nape of her neck. 

Minerva shivered at the brief contact before lightly pushing Morgan back, forcing her release. She used the sleeve of her thick robe to clean the evidence of her crying from her face before speaking, her brogue gone again, her voice imperious and bordering on what Morgan remembered hearing from her future Professor in class. “We have about ten minutes until breakfast will be ready. You may want to take this time to shower.” She stirred the pot’s contents, adding in a bit of milk. 

“I think I will.” Morgan smiled, happy to see her witch back to normal. She placed a quick peck on her cheek before skipping into the bathroom for her shower. 

Minerva used the remaining time to heat a skillet, toasting the buttered bread slices and loading them into a plate. In the last couple minutes the porridge needed, she threw in a handful of golden currants, a bit more butter, and some brown sugar, stirring vigorously to be sure everything incorporated well. She heard the water from the shower cease, a blush spreading across her cheeks and down into her chest at the thought of a wet, naked Morgan in the next room. 

Shaking off the thoughts, she dished up the porridge, pulled the crispy rashers of bacon from the oven and placed them on the plate with the toast, carrying the bowls and plate to the table before going back for flatware and a pitcher of juice, along with a couple of small juice glasses. She had just finished setting the table when Morgan came out of the bathroom, having transfigured her pajama top into a robe similar to Minerva’s. It wasn’t as thick, but was every bit as warm and comfortable. Her damp hair was back in the thick braid, and she brought it over her shoulder when she sat in the dining chair, not wanting to sit back against it and get her back and the chair wet. 

“This looks and smells delicious, Min.” Her stomach rumbled, causing both of them to smile. 

“Well, apparently you were very hungry. It’s not a full Scottish breakfast, nor even a full English breakfast, but I can never stomach anything too heavy in the morning.” She picked up the pitcher of juice and poured some into her own glass before offering some to Morgan. “Juice, or would you prefer … oh bother! I forgot to make the tea.” 

“Juice is fine.” Morgan smiled reassuringly as Minerva poured her glass. “I never eat a full breakfast either. I normally have an egg with either bacon or sausage with toast. The porridge is a delightful substitute for the egg.” She was lying just a bit. She wasn’t really very fond of porridge, but spooned a bite into her mouth anyway to please Minerva, surprised at the different flavor and texture of the oats. She swallowed before exclaiming, “That’s the best porridge I’ve ever had! It’s very different from what I’m used to getting. This is really delicious!” She took another bite, closing her eyes at the deliciously rich dish. 

“That’s because ‘tis real oats and not those flattened things the English try to pass off as an acceptable substitute. My mum cooks it every morning, and adds the same things. A splash of milk close to the end, currants, butter, and brown sugar. Proper porridge.” She sniffed indignantly at the horrors of rolled oats instead of her beloved steel-cut being used to blacken the name of porridge. 

“I never knew there was a difference, but really, this is delicious. My compliments to you and to your mum for teaching you to properly prepare it.” Morgan dug back into her breakfast, enjoying this variation on her typical morning fare. 

Minerva did the same, the two sharing the meal in companionable silence. When they finished, Morgan banished the dirty dishes to the sink, setting them to wash themselves. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” Morgan asked, leaning back in her chair. 

“I have a bit more shopping to do for the week, and I have to find a birthday gift for Rob, but other than that, I’m all yours.” 

“Mm, I like the sound of that,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eye, causing Minerva to lightly blush. “I need to grab a few things from Scribbulus, so if you’re not opposed to being seen in public with me, I can go with you.” 

“I’d like that.” She smiled over at Morgan, deciding to tease her a little. “And why wouldn’t I want to be seen in public with you? You weren’t secretly a member of Grindelwald’s Army, were you?” 

“Didn’t you know? I was one of his generals. I’m on hit-lists all over Europe,” she said, going along with the joke. 

“Maybe I ought to bring you in then. I’d get a very nice reward for a General.” 

“Hmm, what if I offered you a bigger reward than the Ministry?” 

“I suppose it depends on the kind of reward you’re offering.” 

“Be careful what you ask for, Min. I’d give you anything; everything.” 

Minerva glanced up at this deeper turn the conversation had taken and noticed that Morgan’s eyes had darkened again like they had been earlier when she’d woken up. “I, um, that’s … wow. How about you?” She asked in a moment of bravery. “Can I have you as my reward?” 

“I can’t give you that, Min.” Her eyes fell to the floor, unable to look up any longer. Seconds later, she felt the warmth of Morgan’s hand at her cheek, tilting her head back up to look directly into the shining orbs that had gone from golden brown to a deep shade of chestnut. “I can’t give myself to you, Min, because you already own me. I am totally and completely yours. Forever.” 

Minerva leaned forward and captured Morgan’s lips with her own, accepting the precious gift she’d been given. She pulled back after a moment, and took a few seconds to compose herself. “We should, um, get dressed and go now.” Morgan’s thumb caressed the high arch of her cheekbone and then the warmth of her hand was gone. 

“We should.” Morgan stood from her kneeling position, and turned toward her room. “When we get back, Min, we need to talk about this.” She disappeared behind the bedroom door, and Minerva finally stood and went to dress herself. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

An hour later found them in Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, Morgan carrying a goodly supply of parchment, ink and quills, and Minerva looking at writing cases. There was one in particular that had caught her eye, and she ran a finger appreciatively over the wood and brass creation. 

It looked like a miniature trunk, only with a flat lid instead of a rounded one. She tilted the lid back, noting the space inside for storing fresh sheaves of parchment. The lower level folded forward at an angle and was covered in a stiff leather, providing a hard place on which to write without allowing the quill’s nibs to damage the wood underneath. There was a series of small, square-shaped cubby-holes at the top of the inclined writing area, set up to hold bottles of ink in place, and a longer, rectangular section to hold pens or quills. From the back, there were graduated drawers for storing other bits and bobs that you might want to carry with you for writing; sealing wax, stamps and seals, or even little pots of dried ink powder for reconstituting to write on the go. While the case would be quite heavy once filled, there were ways to get around that for the discerning Wizarding client. 

Minerva wanted to get it for Rob, as he was destined to be the writer in their family. He was already an avid correspondent with several students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, as well as with a couple of American students attending the Salem Institute in Massachusetts. Looking at the price tag, however, dampened her spirits. It was more than the family fund would cover, even with her personal addition to what Isobel had given her. Sighing, she closed the case back up and began looking at other, more inexpensive writing cases. She had nearly settled on buying a smaller one that was within her budget, when Morgan’s low voice sounded nearby. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She was running her fingers along the polished wood and brass of the case that had so caught Minerva’s eye. “Is this what you were looking at for Rob, or for yourself?” 

“Rob. I’m not much of a letter-writer.” She picked up the smaller case she was considering. “I thought about this one instead. It’s a bit smaller and will be easier to carry around.” 

Morgan frowned, thinking. “It’s smaller, yes, but this one is so much nicer. It’ll last him longer, and function better.” 

“I still think this is the better choice.” Minerva’s voice was quiet, trying to avoid mentioning her financial state. 

“I don’t see how.” 

“This one’s less expensive,” Minerva whispered. “I don’t have enough for the better one.” 

Morgan looked at the price tags. “There’s only two galleons between the two, and I can make that up for you.” 

Minerva’s heart fell. “You don’t have to do that. I can get this one and he won’t ever know the difference.” 

Morgan’s eyes darted around, making sure nobody was paying attention to them before raising a hand to briefly dust her fingers across a smooth cheek. “You and I would know. And wouldn’t he like this one more?” She paused for a moment, receiving no response. “Min, I don’t want you to be sad because you had to settle for a gift you didn’t want to give. I know what that’s like. I have more than enough to help you out, and moreover, I want to do it. Let me?” 

“Very well then.” She replaced the small case on its shelf. Morgan handed her the two golden galleons she needed, and she tucked them into her pocket with the rest of her money before reaching for the larger one, carrying it up to the counter. She was excited to be able to get the nicer gift for her brother, knowing that this gorgeous writing case would last him a lifetime, but feeling horrible that she couldn’t afford it on her own. She was living on Dumbledore’s stipend, and it just didn’t allow for much leeway in buying anything other than the necessities. She paid the nine galleons and waited for Morgan to finish her own shopping. 

A minute or two passed before Morgan breezed up to the counter to pay for her own purchases. She had added a couple extra rolls of parchment, a bottle of darkest black liquid ink and a packet of dried ink powder in the same color, two excellent quality quills, one in silver and one in green, and a silver pen with a set of nibs. After paying for the lot, she shoved it all down into her bag, picking up the case by its handles, not wanting to risk scratching the beautiful wood by putting it in her back as well. “Shall we?” She smiled over at Minerva, whose eyes still shone with a deep sadness. 

“Aye.” The two witches left the shop and apparated back to Minerva’s flat. 

Morgan set the case on the table, removing her cloak and draping it across the back of her chair, seeing Minerva do the same with hers. “Min?” She softly questioned. 

“I would like to make some modifications to Rob’s gift if I may.” 

“Modifications?” 

“Charms. A permanent feather-light so it won’t be so heavy to carry around, and I’d like to charm one of the rear drawers with the Undetectable Extensions I use on my little bag so he can store as many letter-packets as he needs without having to worry about storage space. Also, I figure that Slytherin may not be the most private of Houses, so the Undetectable nature of the charm would protect his letters from being found by anyone not clued into the charm’s existence.” 

Minerva was moved by the gesture. It would make an already excellent gift into the perfect one. “That would be very nice of you.” She paused to clear her throat. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“You’re very welcome. I want you to be happy, Min, and I will always endeavor to keep you that way.” 

As Minerva disappeared into the bathroom, Morgan pulled her purse out, and summoned the writing supplies she had just purchased, fishing out the later additions. She opened the writing case, and the Slytherin-colored quills went into the rectangular pocket set aside for them, along with the silver pen and its nibs. The bottle of liquid ink went into one of the square sections, and the little glass bottle of ink powder went into the other. The parchments were tucked into the bottom section of the fold-out writing surface. She folded the angled portions back together and settled the lid closed. Turning the case around, she surveyed the rear drawers, deciding to turn the top drawer into the extended one, turning the most useless of small spaces into the most useful instead. 

She removed the drawer and pulled out her wand, closing her eyes to begin casting the complicated series of spells and charms that made the magical extensions work properly. A moment later, she put her wand aside and reached an arm deep into the expanded drawer, feeling to make sure she had added enough extra space, but not too much. The small drawer would now be able to hold five times as much as the entire case would normally be able to hold. It wasn’t so big that he would never be able to find everything, but it was large enough to hold several years’ worth of letter-bundles without issue. 

She sensed, rather than saw Minerva reenter the room, and absently asked, “Do you think this is enough extra space,” passing the drawer over. 

Minerva stuck her hand in and measured the extra available space. “Should be,” she replied, handing the drawer back. 

Morgan replaced the drawer, and picked her wand back up to cast the permanent variation of the Feather-light charm, ensuring that the small chest would never be too heavy to easily transport. 

Finished with her additions, Morgan snapped her wand back into its sheath, and turned her attention to Minerva. She was surprised to see the sadness from earlier lingering in her eyes. She reached over for Minerva’s hand and pulled her over to the sofa. Once they sat, she asked, “What’s wrong, Min? Something’s bothering you.” 

“Rob’s birthday celebration is next weekend, and I have to be there overnight Saturday. I want you to come with me because we’re friends, or maybe more, but we can’t _be_ more in front of my parents.” 

“I see.” 

“And you said after what happened this morning that we need to talk about the ‘maybe more’ part and I’m worried that my wanton actions while you were sleeping have made you not want the ‘more’ with me and the fact remains that we’re two women who shouldn’t _want_ the ‘more’ with each other. I’ve tied myself into knots all morning, Morgan, and …” 

“Shh,” Morgan interrupted by placing a finger against her lips. “We do need to talk about things, and this is the biggest reason why.” She removed the finger and brushed the back of it across Minerva’s cheek and then down to lightly chuck under her chin before dropping away. “There’s a lot to be confused by here, and I understand that. I’ve been where you are; awakening to the thought of being with a woman the way society says you should want to be with a man. The sight of a hard, angled chest should be enough to take away your breath and make you feel weak in the knees with a belly full of desire, yet instead it’s the soft curve of a woman’s breast that makes you feel that way. People expect to see you swept off your feet by a man’s tight muscles, by the wiry hair that peppers his arms, or that rakish mustache and beard, but they do nothing for you, or little enough as to matter. 

“You recognize the beauty of the male form. You understand that it’s what you should want, but you don’t. Instead you find that your head is turned by a laughing pair of eyes, or a soft cheek.” Her hand found itself raised again, fingers dancing over Minerva’s eyebrows and eyelids, gliding down her cheek to rest on the tip of her chin, one fingertip lightly brushing back and forth over the thin bottom lip above it. “Or the velvet smoothness of a woman’s kissable lip.” She leaned forward and pressed the gentlest of tiny kisses to the corner of her mouth. 

“I know what I want, Minerva, and I’m not afraid to tell society what to do with their expectations of me. However, if you can’t look inside yourself and tell me that you want the same things, then I can go. It will break my heart to leave you, but if being with me isn’t what you want, if you find that the things I just said aren’t true for you, or even if you do like women that way but don’t want me, then I will do it. I will wish you all the happiness in the world, even if I can’t be the one to give it to you. You just need to decide what you want.” 

“Knowing what I want isn’t the issue, Morgan. I’m trying to figure out if what I want is the right thing.” 

“Love is always the right thing, so long as both parties involved agree.” She stood. “I’m going into the other room for a minute to let you think. We’ll talk more when I return, yeah?” Minerva nodded, and Morgan disappeared into her bedroom, the door closing with a soft snick. 

Minerva wanted desperately to believe what Morgan was saying, but it went against everything she’d ever been taught. Then again, marrying a Muggle had been against everything her mother had been taught. Locking away her wand and never doing magic had been against everything she had been taught. Even with the strain of secrecy, however, her parents were happy with each other. Maybe it was really just a question of perception. Isobel must have initially screamed over how it wasn’t right to love someone without magic, but she had. She did, still. Maybe loving a woman was the same thing. 

 _She’s right. Even though I know my family won’t approve, love is the right thing. I **do** love her, and although she hasn’t said it, I’m certain she loves me, too. If she doesn’t, what was the point in fighting to get me to see all this?_  

She jumped up and nearly ran to the bedroom door, opening it without knocking. Morgan was sitting on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees, hands splayed over her face. She was obviously worried about what Minerva’s choice would be. When the door closed again, the latch snicking shut, she stood and looked toward the door, surprise written on her face at the sudden appearance of the object of her thoughts. 

“You were right. Love is always the right thing, and Morgan? I love you. I may not be free to show that in front of my parents, but I will never lie to you, and I will never keep secrets from you. You said last night that you can’t give yourself to me because I already own you. Well, I’m staking my claim.” 

She took one step forward, seeing Morgan do the same, and in a rush of steps, they met in the middle, mouths clashing together in a furious tangle of lips and tongues. Minerva pulled pins from the red curls, fingers trembling and stumbling in their efforts. Finally, the last one fell to the floor and the thick hair fell free. One obstacle out of the way, she reached for the long zipper running down the back of Morgan’s robes. She dragged it down only a couple of inches before the redhead pulled back from their kiss, noses still touching, and brown eyes searching green. 

“Are you sure, Min? Because if we start on this path, I won’t be able to turn back, and I won’t ever let you go.” 

“I’m sure. I told you, you’re mine, and I’m never letting you go, either.” She growled the last words out before angling up to nip at the end of Morgan’s nose. “Mine.” 

“Yours, then, Min. Forever.” 

Morgan turned around, and Minerva slid the zipper down to her waist, pressing small kisses in the trail of exposing skin. Once the material was loose, her hands slid up to push the bodice down by the sleeves. Once her arms were freed, Morgan shoved impatiently at the waist of her dress, thick linen pooling at her feet as it fell, leaving her in her underwear and stockings. Turning to face Minerva, she could see the normally clear green eyes darkened and clouded over with desire for what she saw. 

She kissed Minerva again briefly before trailing kisses over her cheek and down her neck. Her hands unzipped the black robes while her mouth was laving and sucking on a throbbing pulse-point. Soon, there was a dark red mark on the tender spot, and both sets of robes were on the floor at their feet. Grabbing hold of her hands, Morgan backed them toward the bed, stopping when her knees reached the edge. 

She released the trembling hands and reached back to unfasten her bra. Swallowing heavily, Minerva reached to do the same, both pieces of cloth hitting the floor at the same time. The sight of the completely unfettered breasts caused Minerva to quickly inhale, unable to stop her hand from rising to caress it the way she had done earlier. Without the pajama top in the way, she noticed an old scar curving across Morgan’s ribcage on the left side, ending just shy of the full breast she was holding. Her fingers dropped to trace it, eyes rising questioningly to Morgan’s. 

“Childhood accident. Hasn’t hurt in years. Nothing for you to worry about.” Mirroring Minerva’s earlier action, Morgan ran a finger down the middle of her chest before curving around to cup the small swell in her hands, thumb pressing against the nipple, feeling it tighten against the pressure. “Gods, you’re beautiful, Min. Perfect.” 

Their lips met again in a passionate kiss, bare breasts touching each other between them. Morgan’s hands lowered to caress the satin-clad cheeks, pulling at the loose panties, groaning as they fell, revealing soft skin to her hands. She gripped at the soft cheeks, pulling them even closer together, if possible. She kissed her way over so that her lips hovered over Minerva’s ear and whispered, “Lie down.” 

The low words in her ear increased the tingling pressure that had been pooling low in her belly, and her knees turned to jelly. Morgan pulled her hands back, and without their support, she sank down onto the edge of the bed and lay back, waiting for Morgan to join her. 

Morgan was a vision standing in front of her, her red and blonde hair a tangled halo around her head, her full breasts swaying gently, stomach trim and lightly muscled, legs slim and fit, the apex of her soft thighs still covered by the loose satin panties favored at the time, and the stockings still sitting in place, courtesy of a little magic. 

A pink tongue darted out to moisten full lips, then Morgan knelt on the bed, one leg on either side of Minerva’s waist, leaning down to press a series of short kisses all over Minerva’s face, starting at her forehead, then moving to her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, over to her ear, repeating the caress she’d liked in the tavern the day before, then across the bone of her jaw, to her chin, before finally touching their lips back together. Minerva felt like a puddle of goo lying there, her hands having risen to sit on the satin-covered hips resting over hers.  

The lips didn’t stay still very long, moving on again, trailing down to the red mark at the base of Minerva’s neck before moving ever on, nipping at her collarbone before going even lower, finally reaching the gentle swell of a breast, fingers clenching tightly in the satin material as Morgan’s hot mouth covered the tight nipple of her left breast, sending swirls down to the tingling mass in her belly, making her back arch up from the sensations. When the cool air of the room rushed back over the hot flesh, she nearly cried out from the loss, but the heat simply moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention its mate had just gotten. 

Minerva couldn’t stop the mewling noises from leaving her throat, thoroughly enjoying the feel of those hot lips and the smooth tongue as they paid homage to each breast in turn before leaving, another trail of kisses leading lower across her stomach, the tongue dipping briefly into her navel on its way down. 

As Morgan moved her mouth down, her hips had to move as well, and soon Minerva’s hands had nothing to hold onto. They gripped tightly to the blanket underneath her, having nothing else within reach. 

Morgan slipped off the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor, and pulled Minerva several inches toward her, nudging at her knees so she could kneel between them. She could see the pink flesh in front of her darkening as blood began to rush into it in response. 

Her left hand glided up the quivering thigh to reach for Minerva’s hand, twisting their fingers together. The right reached for the tight bundle of nerves and vessels, brushing a thumb across it experimentally, trying to judge how to proceed based on the response she received. 

Green eyes slammed open at the contact, and her fingers tightened where they held Morgan’s. “Oh!” The feelings that had been building in the pit of her stomach all rushed to that one throbbing spot before blooming out, making her body flush all over. Another brush of Morgan’s thumb made her back arch sharply, and when the heat of Morgan’s mouth found the center of her desire, she couldn’t hold back. As the tongue moved back and forth over it, her hips began moving of their own volition, and little sounds were escaping unknown from her own mouth and throat. 

When a long finger pressed slowly into her, words began issuing forth, both in English and Gaelic, and all of them meaning the same thing: _more_! In place of the swirling tingles, there was something else building; a pressure like water building behind a weakening dam, threatening to spill over and burst. Morgan released her hand and reached it up to squeeze her breast, gently pinching at the nipple, adding to the building pressure. Left adrift, her freed hand found its way into Morgan’s hair, unconsciously pulling at it painfully. 

The finger started moving in and out, curling up at the end of every thrust, meeting the pressures her tongue was placing on the outer bundle on the inside. The sharp noises Minerva was making were getting louder, and the pressure was growing with every movement, her hips moving erratically, and her toes beginning to draw up. Her breath was coming out in short panting bursts, and when Morgan used her teeth to lightly bite, the dam finally broke. 

She screamed her release, body shaking all over, tears flooding from her eyes. Morgan removed her finger and moved up to claim Minerva’s mouth in a hard kiss. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm bad at le smut. Don't shoot me for writing it badly.
> 
> * Sarclet is a small township in Caithness County, along its Eastern Shore, just south of Wick. All Jo gave us on Pottermore was that they lived on the outskirts of Caithness, which I'd assumed to be a town. I was wrong. It's an entire county along the very northern-most boundaries of Scotland. I have, therefore, had to construct more backstory for our dear Minerva, as well as for Robert and Isobel and the McGonagall and Ross clans, who, in my imagination, hail from Thurso, also in Caithness County, about 25 miles away from Sarclet. Close enough that he could easily have been offered the Parish upon completing his time in Seminary, but far enough away to ensure no contact between the young couple and the families who disowned them when they chose to marry. None of it's strictly necessary information, but as I'm choosing to include Robert, Isobel, and the two boys in the story, I had to come up with something, or I felt like I had to. Far more backstory has been written than anyone will ever see or hear, but I have to keep everything straight in my mind, and all the elaborate backstory helps.
> 
> I've taken my attempts at the Scots burr from the way I've heard it - admittedly only from TV and Movies - and also from the way it was written out in the Outlander series, which was one of many novels that have attributed to my love for Scotland (as well as my own heritage, although I've never been). My apologies if you find it annoying.
> 
> If you're interested in the antique writing case I've used as inspiration, there's a picture on the Resources site linked from my profile, and I shamelessly stole it from an auction house's website. Their description said the thing weighs 20 pounds, even when empty, and was meant to be carried around by valets or ladies' maids. Thank goodness for feather-light charms, eh?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> I think after the end of that last chapter, this might go without saying, but …  
> “Here, there be Dragons.” 
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The rest of their Saturday was spent in bed, learning each other’s bodies, losing themselves in passion and lust. Minerva was hesitant at first, but watching as her lips and fingers caused visible and audible reactions from Morgan spurred her on, her shyness melting away to a smooth confidence that there was nothing she could do that wouldn’t make her lover shiver and moan in pleasure. 

Finally, both of them completely exhausted by their repeated activities, Minerva curled into Morgan’s side, hands entwined and legs tangled together, and they slept. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hours later, Minerva woke, her bladder screaming. She gently extricated herself from Morgan’s hold, and managed to wriggle out of the bed. Quietly, she padded out of the room and made her way into the bathroom. After relieving herself, she flushed and stood at the sink to wash up. While drying her hands, she looked at herself in the wall mirror. There were several reddish spots covering her neck and chest, and her long black hair was a frightful mess, as they’d gone to sleep before securing it back in her signature braid. She ran a brush through her hair quickly before flipping the light switch back down and going back to the spare bedroom. 

She stopped in the doorway to stare at the vision awaiting her. A single beam of moonlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, highlighting the unearthly beauty of tangled red and blonde-streaked hair as it trailed over lightly tanned skin. The bedsheet only partially covered Morgan’s body, draping its way across her hips, leaving her bare chest open to the air and to Minerva’s searching eyes. There was a slight frown on her face, the fingers on her outstretched hand twitching as though searching for something. 

Minerva stepped forward and climbed back into the bed, filling the void she’d left when she got up. When her back brushed over the twitching fingers, they calmed, and the frown disappeared from the sleeping face, replaced by a gentle smile. Minerva brushed her lips across the now smiling ones and then moved up to her ear. “ _A rúnsearc, táim i ngrá leat_.” She felt Morgan’s arm tighten around her in response to the whispered words. 

Pulling the sheet and blanket up to cover both of them, Minerva snuggled into the warmth radiating from her lover and quickly fell back to sleep, lulled by the comforting rhythm of Morgan’s breathing and heartbeat. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

“My darling, I would stand atop the Ministry and proclaim to all present that you are mine, now and forever, but I have no family and no reputation to maintain while buried in obscurity as an Unspeakable. I have nobody here except you, and you are all that matters to me. So the decision lies with you. Whatever that decision may be, I shall do my best to abide by it.” 

Morgan spoke quietly, her words full of emotion and promises, punctuating her statements with a bite of Minerva’s lovely porridge. They had awoken in the early dawn and praised at the altar of soft flesh with tender caresses. They had lain in the afterglow, basking in the shared heat until a growl sounded from Morgan’s belly, making food a priority for the then-giggling women. A quick shared shower later found them in the kitchen, dressed in their bathrobes, Morgan perched on a stool in front of the counter, watching as Minerva prepared their porridge, bacon, and toast as she had the morning before. 

“As much as I would love to do the same, you’re correct in your assumptions that it’s not quite that simple for me. I don’t know how my family would react, especially given my parents’ history, but it’s not something I wish to test.” Minerva paused to chew a bite of toast. Swallowing, she continued. “Thankfully just the two of us being in public together wouldn’t serve to raise any suspicions, and even if it did, I would never be ashamed to go out in public with you. I do want you to come with me for Rob’s birthday, but it must be simply as my friend.” 

Morgan nodded grimly. “I understand that, Min. It might be a mite difficult to remember to keep my hands to myself, but I can do it.” She did want to shout from the rooftops that Minerva McGonagall belonged to her, but not only was that impossible as it stood, but it was also rendered further impossible because she wanted to use her real name. _“MINERVA MCGONAGALL BELONGS TO HERMIONE GRANGER, NOW AND FOREVER!”_ She could only imagine the reaction that would cause in the ripples of time. 

“Thank you, Morgan, for understanding.” Minerva used the last bite of toast to sop up the remaining porridge in her bowl, popping the delectable bite into her mouth. There was some kind of gleam in Morgan’s eyes that she couldn’t quite place, but she shrugged it off and swallowed her toast, washing it down with a sip of juice. 

“I have just one more question.” 

Minerva’s eyebrow rose mischievously. “I can’t answer it until you ask.” 

Despite the teasing nature of Minerva’s response, Morgan’s face was serious as she asked, “What do we do if, even with our best efforts to hide the, as you put it, ‘more’, your family senses something’s going on and asks? I don’t want to cause problems, Min, but neither do I want to lie outright. It’s one thing to lie by omission and keep us a secret, but what if they ask?” 

“I …” Minerva’s mouth opened and closed several times, unable to formulate a response. 

“Just cross the bridge if we reach it?” 

“I… yes. I don’t want to lie to them at all, really, but the lie of omission doesn’t seem quite as bad. If we slip up or they ask, then we’ll assess the situation and react based on the perceived attitude. Is… is that alright with you?” 

“As I said, darling, it’s your decision to make. All I want to say is that if secrecy from your family and from the public at large is what you want, then I support that fully, however, I want as few secrets between us as possible. There will always be a certain amount of ambiguity involving my job and where I am when I’m not with you, but I will never lie to you unless it’s necessary or in pursuit of a surprise, and I expect the same from you.” 

Morgan knew she would always be the one holding the greater burden of secrecy, because how would one address the issue of _‘oh by the way, I’m here from the future, where I know your eighty-year old self and I’m your former student because you go on to be the most brilliant Transfiguration teacher Hogwarts has seen, surpassing even the indomitable Albus-bloody-Dumbledore. Also, I know you think I’m four years older than you are, but I’m actually fifty-four years younger!’_? It was an impossible situation to explain. 

“We are of the same mind there, then. My parents’ marriage was strained for years because of secrets and lies of omission, and although they are happy together, it still becomes an issue from time to time.” Minerva’s eyes grew sad, thinking of her parents and of Dougal, the Muggle she’d nearly married. “Secrets from others are one thing, but I will not keep them from you.” 

They had finished eating, and Morgan sent the dishes to wash themselves. “Well, now that’s all settled, and we’ve definitely established that we are, in fact, a ‘we’, it appears that we have the rest of the day to do what we want. How shall we spend it?” 

The flush spreading over Minerva’s face and chest indicated where her thoughts had taken her, and Morgan chuckled, a wicked gleam sparkling in her eyes. “Well, that’s certainly an option if you think you’re up for it, but a second day spent in that way might be too much for me.” 

After some discussion, they decided to start working on Minerva’s Patronus lessons. Abandoning the idea of doing the work in their bathrobes, they went to their respective bedrooms to get dressed. Morgan came out in loose brown trousers and a tank top styled after a man’s undershirt, while Minerva came out in a black mid-calf length skirt and a white oxford shirt. Morgan grinned at this reminder of her future friend, and then started thinking back on the DA lessons with Harry when she’d learned to cast her Patronus. “Are you ready, Min?” 

“As ready as I’m going to be, I suppose.” There was a hint of nervousness behind her words, although her voice was solid and strong. 

“Alright. We need to start preparing by meditating a bit.” She sat on the floor, crossing her legs in front of her, gesturing for Minerva to join her. “Have you studied the Animagus process at all?” Morgan knew the answer already, but since Minerva didn’t know that, she had to ask. 

“I have,” she replied, surprised by the question. “Why?” 

“I haven’t mastered it, and have barely even studied the process, but this first part is very similar to the beginning parts of learning to be an Animagus, from what I’ve heard.” She placed her palms flat on the floor in front of her knees, and straightened her spine as much as possible, slightly leaning forward to maintain the contact. “We begin, as I said, with meditation. Calm yourself and find your center.” 

Minerva put herself in the same position as Morgan, wondering what this had to do with summoning a Patronus, but doing what she was told anyway. Her eyes slid closed and she forced herself to relax each muscle in turn. She could hear Morgan’s voice humming peacefully, adding to the calming fog surrounding her mind. Finally, she was totally relaxed, completely calm, and deep into her meditative state. A clear voice penetrated the fog, telling her to stand, keeping her eyes closed. She did so, rising effortlessly from the floor, her hands remaining flatted and outstretched in front of her. After a few seconds, she felt her wand being pressed into the palm of her right hand and she closed her fingers around it, loosely gripping the slender piece of wood, feeling the tingle of her magic radiating from the points of contact with her palm and fingers. 

“Now, Min, I need you to picture the happiest memory you have. Get it clear in your mind, and let the joy and happiness wash over you.” The clear voice passed through the fog once again. A jumble of memories flashed over her mind, settling on one particular moment. She felt the joy, the happiness, the sheer ecstasy she’d felt suffuse the fog and seep into every pore. 

Unbeknownst to her, her lips had formed the most beautifully blinding smile, the brightness of her bliss evident. Morgan wondered briefly what memory could cause such an effusion of exhilaration, but moved on so the moment could be captured. 

Minerva felt heat rush inward from her hand as fingers caressed the appendage, the heat growing with the increased contact of an arm lined up against hers, of a soft chest pressed against her back, and a line of fire drew itself across her belly, wrapping its fingers around her waist. The clear voice came in a whisper next to her ear. “Now. Cast.” Their voices merged together, calmly casting, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” She felt as her wand hand was led in a series of expanding circles, and as the words left their lips, a burst of magic sprang forth, fed by her happiness and the warmth surrounding her. Her eyes opened to see a brightly shining silver kitten pouncing around the room, chasing the darkness away with its playful presence. 

“Well done,” Morgan whispered into her ear, pressing a tender kiss into the hollow behind her lower lobe. The kitten having found nothing to dispel other than innocent shadows, it disappeared in a plume of silver smoke. Morgan stepped back, taking her heat with her, and Minerva shivered in its absence. 

“I have a kitten Patronus?” 

“It seems so. Hmm, shall I call you my little kitten from now on?” Morgan’s voice was light and teasing. 

“It would be appropriate, I suppose, but I would rather you didn’t.” Minerva frowned in thought for a moment before smiling enigmatically. Calling back upon that inner calm, she closed her eyes and felt herself shrinking, her bones changing, and her body shifted into its Animagus form. Her eyes opened again, her head tilting up to gaze upon a bluish-grey version of her red-haired lover. “Mrrow.” She trotted over and rubbed her head against the linen-covered leg, purring softly. 

“Well, well. You have studied to be an Animagus, haven’t you, Min?” Morgan crouched down low, reaching to scratch behind the grey ears butting up against her ankle. She’d seen Minerva’s Animagus form before, of course, but fifty years in the future, the cat would have pale lines around the eyes matching the square-shaped frames of the older Minerva’s glasses.

She remembered reading somewhere that all Animagus forms had some distinguishing mark that matched their human counterpart, and without the eyeglass frames lining her eyes, Morgan could see the younger Minerva’s mark. In amongst the light grey fur, the black stripes were darker and more prominent, and there was one long black stripe leading from a solid black head down her spine all the way to an all-black tail. The rest of her tabby stripes angled and twirled out from there, but her signature black braid was clearly represented in this long line of dark fur. Morgan’s memory of future Minerva’s feline form no longer had this dark stripe, but instead carried the pale white lines of the eyeglasses she didn’t yet need. 

Her right hand lightly scratched its way down that stripe before capturing the tail gently between her fingers. It was summarily jerked out of her grasp, sharp teeth finding their way quickly to nip at her fingers as a warning. Minerva changed back to her regular human self, crouching on the floor, panting lightly, her pupils widely dilated. “’Tis verra sensitive, ye ken?” Her voice was thick and deep, the brogue returning with a fierceness Morgan hadn’t expected. 

“What does it feel like, Min? When I stroke your tail.” Morgan was strangely affected by seeing Minerva in such a state. 

“Shall I show you?” 

Her breath hitched at the suggestion, and she felt warmth pooling at her center, moisture beginning to seep out. “I think you should.” 

A predatory gleam appeared the suddenly catlike green eyes, and the wand pressed to the floor beneath her hand was raised and lowered quickly, whispered words banishing their clothes across the room, leaving them both completely naked. Her tongue traced her own lips in a very feline, very sensual manner, and then, just as her patronus had pounced on the shadows earlier, Minerva pounced on Morgan, her hands pressing against shoulders, forcing them to meet the carpeted floor, her hips cradled between raised knees. 

She lightly bit at Morgan’s lip, soothing the tender spot with a gentle lap of her tongue before beginning to move lower, the rapacious glint her eyes remaining as she trailed fire over and past heaving breasts and a flat stomach, her target just a bit lower. 

Morgan raised her torso and head as the lips and tongue moved slowly, resting on her bent arms and keeping eye contact as Minerva’s nose nudged against her aching clit, making her groan. “When ye stroke my tail, it feels a bit like… this.” Her tongue raked upward from the weeping channel and over the swollen bundle of nerves. The combination of the vibration of Minerva’s desire-thickened voice and the ruthless stroke of her tongue was too much. Her arms collapsed beneath her, her head thumping to the floor and her eyes closing, as her hips jerked forward, aching for more friction. 

Minerva made another languid pass, savoring the feel and taste, her hands gripping at Morgan’s hips in an attempt to keep her still. She plunged her tongue into the damp hole before bringing it back out and up, pressing against Morgan’s clit in a back and forth motion before repeating the previous action again and again. She loved how every little movement of her tongue caused a different sound to escape from her lover’s throat. Her eyes cut upward, and she could see Morgan’s hands, one buried in her own red hair, and the other pressed against one side of her face, her mouth open and the tanned skin of her chest and belly flushed and rosy in the firelight. She had never been more beautiful to Minerva than in that moment. 

She brought her right hand down from where it had been clamped onto Morgan’s hip, concentrating her tongue on the glistening nub, and pressing her middle and ring fingers firmly into the tight passage just below, curling up at the end of every thrust. She almost allowed herself to purr as this new sensation caused an entirely different sound to float toward her listening ears. Morgan began chanting, her words a litany of “Oh god, Oh Min-ER-va, Oh god Oh god Oh GOD SO CLOSE,” her low voice rising in pitch as she came closer and closer to the edge. Minerva pressed her tongue and her fingers once more, in tandem, harder than she had before, and Morgan came with a rush, her voice gasping Minerva’s name over and over. 

Minerva removed her fingers and blazed a trail of small kisses upward, silencing her witch with a thorough exploration of her mouth with her tongue. Their lips broke apart, both panting and trying to relieve their lungs’ aching for oxygen. Minerva collapsed on top of Morgan, held in place by firm arms around her back, and her hips again cradled between folded legs. She laid her head on Morgan’s shoulder and buried her face in the crook of her neck. 

Morgan found that her brain was beginning to be capable of thought again after the intense orgasm, and the depth of her emotions hit her like a brick. She turned her head and pressed a soft kiss to Minerva’s sweaty brow. “I love you,” she whispered, her heart swelling with the emotion. 

“And I love you,” Minerva whispered back. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

They lay like that for several minutes until the cooling sweat on their bodies began to make them shiver. Minerva pushed herself up first before reaching to help pull Morgan to her feet. They shared another passionate kiss before reluctantly parting to search for their clothes. Dressing only in their shirts and knickers, they settled on the small sofa in front of the fire, cuddling tightly together and covering their legs with a tartan throw in red with blue and green crosshatches and thin white stripes. * 

Snuggled together, and warm in front of the fire and under the blanket, they were quiet for a while before neither could take the silence any longer. They started discussing the theory behind the Patronus and Animagus spells, and why they often chose the same form, but not always. The conversation moved from there to why Morgan’s Patronus was a spider, and then to Minerva asking why Morgan hadn’t undergone Animagus training. Morgan explained that she simply hadn’t had time in her schedule to attempt it, but that she would like to someday when time was more plentiful. 

They left their little sanctuary long enough to heat up leftover Shepherd’s Pie, finishing off the dish before returning to the sofa and returning to their earlier conversation. The rest of the afternoon passed in the same manner as their morning. When the evening shadows began to appear on the walls, they decided to take their evening meal at the Three Broomsticks, visiting with Mairead and baby Rosmerta. 

After dinner, Morgan wrapped Minerva securely in her arms and apparated them home. They each took a moment to brush their teeth, and then with only their eyes, decided it was time for bed. Moving into Minerva’s bedroom, they slowly removed each other’s clothing with deft fingers and questing lips before falling into the bed, tenderly worshipping each other’s bodies. 

A couple hours later found them sated and snuggled together tightly. Minerva reached to pull the sheet and blanket over them, and once covered, they slept, content to be together. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next morning brought them back to Earth with the realization that Minerva had her studies to pursue. She woke first and took a quick shower, pulling her hair back into its signature braid, and covering a couple of very visible love bites with simple glamours. She sat on the end of the bed to pull on her boots, and the movement woke Morgan, her arm absently searching the bed for Minerva, and waking unpleasantly when her reaching hand found nothing but cool sheets. 

“Good morning, darling.” Minerva’s voice drew her gaze to the end of the bed. 

“You’re too … dressed.” Her sleepy voice made Minerva want to crawl back into the warmth of her embrace and stay there, but she had an education to complete. “C’mere.” The thick, low voice tugged at her heart, but somehow she resisted its pull.   


“I have to go, Morgan. I don’t want to, but I don’t think Master Ashmole will accept the excuse that ‘my lover was calling me back to her soft, warm bed’ as an excuse not to show up today.” She leaned over and languidly kissed Morgan’s pouting lips. 

“Technically, this is your bed, and I think it’s a perfectly wonderful excuse.” 

“Oh, aye. You would, but then again, you are temptation made flesh, _a rúnsearc_.” One last quick peck on the lips, and Minerva straightened up, standing and pressing the wrinkles from her robes with her hands. “I’ll be home by six, depending on how late the lesson goes today.” She glanced down at the pouting face of her very naked lover, wishing she could stay. “I’ll miss you. I don’t know how I’m ever going to concentrate on my lessons when all I’ll be able to see is this vision of you lying naked and waiting in my bed.” 

Morgan’s foot reached up to lightly pinch a robe-clad bottom between her toes, making Minerva jerk away with an amused glint in her eyes. “Devil-woman. Nobody should be able to pinch with their toes like that.” Her hand rubbed the abused part of her posterior. 

“You should see what else I can do with my toes.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Minerva sighed. 

“I guess I shall just have to find out later. I really have to go now or I’ll be late. Now lean up and give me a good-bye kiss.” 

Morgan got up on her knees, the sheet falling away to reveal her body in all of its bare glory, making Minerva inhale sharply. Morgan wrapped one arm around Minerva’s shoulders before claiming her lips in a bruising kiss, her free hand laying claim to a breast through the tight bodice of Minerva’s robes, her thumb circling a quickly hardening nipple. The kiss went on for a mere moment before Minerva pulled back, her eyes closed and her breath coming in shallow gasps. 

“Gods, woman. I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Min. Now go,” the hand that had been pressed to her breast moved down to lightly pat her bottom. “Work hard, study, learn a lot, and then, when the day is over, come back to me.” 

Minerva took a couple steps backward, her eyes fluttering open before looking directly into the dark brown eyes in front of her. “Always,” she promised before turning to walk into the living room. A sharp crack later, Morgan was alone in Minerva’s flat. 

She fell back onto the bed, her arms stretched out to either side, and exhaled. She lay there for a moment, the weekend catching up to her in a rush of emotion as tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes. 

 _Merlin, help me. In a couple of weeks, I’m going to have to go back home, completely and irrevocably in love with a woman who will not love me as myself once I get there. I’ll be spending my life coming back and forth between a woman who loves me in disguise and a mentor who knows me better than most but doesn’t love me romantically. And I’ll have to lie to her over and over for years in both personas when we’ve just made this vow against secrecy. How am I going to survive this? How is she going to react when I’m finally able to reveal myself to her? Will she be able to reconcile the two people into one person she could love the way this younger Minerva loves her Morgan? Will she ever be able to forgive either persona for sixty years’ worth of what she will see as betrayal?_  

The tears were falling in earnest by that point, and there were ugly sobs wracking her body as it turned in on itself, curling into the fetal position, tightly clasping her knees under her chin. She cried for a solid hour before making herself stop before becoming ill. As she and Minerva had decided the day before on the topic of “coming out” to her family, she would just do what she had to do and cross that proverbial bridge when she reached it. She wouldn’t deny the love and happiness to either herself or Minerva, and if it ended in heartbreak, then at least Minerva would finally have the closure she was desperately seeking back in Hermione’s time. 

She dragged herself out of the bed and took a long, hot shower, ridding herself not only of the sweat and tears on her skin, but also of the guilt and remorse in which she’d wrapped herself while she cried. After leaving the shower, feeling cleansed and happy again, she dressed in appropriate outerwear and arranged her damp hair in the bun she was accustomed to wearing as Morgan, securing it with pins and a bit of magic. 

Her stomach started loudly protesting its empty state, so she took stock of the kitchen, making a list of things she would need to purchase for their dinner, and resolving herself to the idea of being a temporary housewife while she was in the past with Minerva. _If Ron could only see me now._ She amused herself with the thought. Checking her store of money, she determined she had plenty to see her through the rest of her stay, but it was all in Wizarding coins, and she would need a bit of Muggle money to make all the purchases she wanted. 

Seeing a pot of Floo powder on the mantle, she threw a bit into the cold fireplace, casting a mild _Incendio_ on it as it landed on the ash and remaining bits of charred wood, flaring a bright green. She stepped into the green flames and stated her destination, clearly and loudly, “Gringotts Bank!” The familiar sensation of sliding through narrow chimneys along the Floo Network ended as she gracefully stepped into the bank’s lobby, removing the spare bits of ash and soot from her robes with a whispered spell. 

She found a free clerk and changed out enough galleons to receive fifty pounds’ worth of notes and coins, knowing that in the post-war economy, it should be enough for anything she might want or need to buy in the Muggle world. As she tucked the money into a small uncharmed Muggle bag, she noticed Ragnok making his way into the building. 

“Good morning, Master Ragnok,” she cheerfully greeted the tall goblin. 

His head turned sharply in her direction, relaxing when he saw who had addressed him. “Good morning, Madam Stewart.” He bowed lightly, and shook the hand she proffered with a firm grip. “Is there anything I can do for you this morning?” 

“No, I can’t think of anything, Master Ragnok. I was just swapping out a few galleons for some Muggle money, as I have a few errands out in London proper today.” Her voice was pleasant as she tucked the little purse into the inner pocket of her cloak along with the beaded one she would use to store any purchases she made. 

“Very well, Madam. If you ever have business within the bank, you may feel free to ask for me, even if it is as mundane a matter as changing currencies out.” He had never made an offer like that before, and it shocked the clerks close enough to have overheard it. 

“Thank you, sir. I very much appreciate the courtesy, and I admit that I do now have a question, if you could be so kind as to answer it?” 

“Of course.” 

“As I said, I have some errands in Muggle London today, and I’m certain I changed out enough Galleons for Pounds, but if I find myself in need of something which costs more than what I have with me, is there a system in place allowing for cheques or drafts which are payable to Muggles who are unable to access Gringotts?” 

Ragnok blinked. He had never heard of such an idea, but it was tempting. They did have a system allowing for the exchange of Galleons to Pounds and other foreign currencies with a Muggle bank, but they simply traded for the Muggle currencies in plain gold, using one of their many Human employees. Not many of their customers dealt with the non-Magical world, and those who did simply used the exchange method she had just used, and spent the money wherever they wanted. 

“We do not currently have such a system in place, Madam, and I apologize for the inconvenience. It may be possible to liaise with a Muggle bank to establish one, however, if it becomes necessary.” 

“It’s not a service I’m currently in need of, Master Ragnok, but it may be a good idea to look into it for the future. One never knows when it could be very helpful.” Morgan was thinking forward to her own time, where cash was getting to be a bit outdated, the Muggle world over-run by credit and debit cards – the internet and shopping online becoming quite prevalent. 

“I shall make it a priority, Madam. Gringotts and I thank you for the suggestion.” The wheels were turning in his head. 

“You are most welcome, Master Ragnok, and thank you for taking the idea into consideration. Have a wonderful day!” She offered her hand for another handshake. 

He accepted the courtesy, bowing deeply, and lightly kissing the back of her hand before releasing it and standing back upright. “Of course, Madam Stewart. You have a very pleasant day as well.” He strode across the lobby toward his office, thinking all the while on how he could implement the system she had suggested. 

Morgan drew herself upright, smiling broadly at the goblin clerks who remained close enough to see it. “Good day, Gentlemen.” Leaving a group of astonished goblins behind her, Morgan breezed out of the bank and into Diagon Alley. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The mid-November wind gusted underneath her cloak as she stepped out of the bank, causing a shiver to ratchet its way up her spine. Shivering, she pulled the cowl over her head and cast a quick warming charm on her cloak. Soaking up the warmth of her charms, she spotted a little café and headed that way. She sat at the counter and had a cup of hot tea and a fresh, warm scone, satisfying the earlier demands of her stomach. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as Minerva’s normal offering of porridge and bacon, but it was hot and tasty. 

After her meal, she reapplied her warming charms before easing out of the busy café. She stood out of the way of the foot traffic, trying to decide where all she needed to go before leaving Diagon Alley for the Muggle shops. Off to her right, back toward Gringotts, she saw a stylish witch glide out of Madam Malkin’s, and the fetching robes the woman was wearing made her think about the coming weekend where she would be meeting Minerva’s parents. She knew the clothes she’d brought were good enough for whatever casual outings she and Minerva might have, but she wanted to make a good impression on the people who would be, for all intents and purposes, her in-laws, and for that, actual robes of the times would be needed. Her mind made up, she strode over and entered the popular clothing shop. 

An hour later, she left with two new robes of exquisite cut and fit, both one-piece dresses, along with an ankle-length cloak that was lined with fur. The cloak she had was still in very good condition, but she knew Minerva’s home was far in the Northern reaches of Scotland, where the winter chill would be far worse than it was in London, and she wanted to be prepared. She had also purchased some fur-lined gloves to protect her hands, and she pulled those on immediately. 

Once again applying the warming charm on her cloak and raising the cowl to cover her head and ears, she slowly wandered around Diagon Alley, immersing herself in the atmosphere of the forties. Her sharp eyes took notes on hairstyles and the clothing worn by the witches she passed, mentally making adjustments to some of the pieces she’d brought with her, although the majority of the Wizarding clothes she had were timeless classic designs that would be as useful in the early twenty-first century as they were in the middle of the twentieth. 

Not seeing any other shops she needed to visit, she made her way down to the Leaky Cauldron and prepared herself for being out with the Muggles. She asked the barkeep if there was a room she could use to change into Muggle-friendly clothing, and he sent her along to a small water-closet which contained a large mirror on the back of the door. Locking the door behind her, she took stock of her appearance. 

The cloak itself wouldn’t be too out of place, although she removed the cowl, thinking it might look a bit suspicious. She removed her cloak and changed her conservative robes into a button-up blouse with long sleeves, and a thick mid-calf length skirt. She was happy she’d worn her silk stockings with the seam line up the back. The shoes would be fine unchanged, she decided, and her hair was perfectly acceptable, although with the loss of the cowl, she determined that one of her first stops would be at a millinery to find something to help protect her head and ears from the wind. She went ahead and took advantage of the clean toilet, not knowing what kind of facilities would be available during her shopping. Once finished and washed up, she swung the cloak back around her shoulders and fastened it. 

Stepping back out into the main room, she thanked the barkeep for the use of the room and stepped out the front door. Subtly refreshing her warming charms, she hailed a passing taxi and asked the driver to take her somewhere she could buy fashionable clothes. “Right you are, Miss.” A few minutes later, he pulled up to a busy neighborhood filled with pedestrians dressed very nicely. Counting out the fare, she added in a tip that was half again what the ride cost and handed it over with a smile, thanking him. 

Her first stop was, indeed, a millinery, where she purchased a hat that, if not exactly a bastion of warmth, was quite fashionable – or so the saleslady assured her – and if her ears got too cold, she could always put a low-grade warming charm on it. 

She wandered the area just as she had in Diagon Alley, observing the trends in fashion, and purchasing a few pieces that she could mix and match to make several different outfits. Remembering a past conversation with future-Minerva about her Muggle father and the strain of hiding magic in their home, Morgan ducked into yet another shop to purchase a few more formal dresses. She left with three beautiful dresses of good quality and excellent fashion for the day. 

Finding a secluded alley, she stowed all her packages, boxes and bags, into her ever-present beaded bag, unburdening herself handily. Her next stop was a jewelry store to pick up a wrist-watch. She knew much of her time in the past would be spent around Muggles, if she continued to visit in times where Minerva had her apprentice studies or, later on, work, and it simply wasn’t always possible to cast a _Tempus_ spell to keep track of her time. She chose a lovely but inexpensive one with a thin leather strap and a small face, and wore it out of the store, stashing the box in her cloak pocket. 

Realizing it was after one, she found a nearby restaurant and sat down for a light lunch, taking the time to think about what she wanted to prepare for their dinner later. As she paid the bill, she asked the waiter if there were any good bookstores close by, and he directed her to one only two or three blocks away. She thanked him and gave him a generous tip for his excellent service and for the bookshop advice. 

The suggested bookstore offered exactly what she needed: a manual on popular dishes of the time and how to prepare them. With that final prize in hand, she found another dark, secluded alleyway and apparated back to Minerva’s flat. She carefully put away all of her clothing purchases and flipped through the cookbook, deciding to make some kind of stew for dinner, based on what was available in the markets she had visited on Friday when she’d gotten the ingredients for the Shepherd’s Pie. 

She took the mundane way out, a sturdy basket in hand, making sure to lock the door behind her with a subtle _Colloportus_. She made her rounds of the shops, picking up all the things on her ‘staples’ list as well as the things she would need for the stew. There was some lovely beef at the butcher’s, and potatoes and carrots at the greengrocer’s. Her final stop was at the bakery to pick up a fresh baguette loaf from which they could eat for a couple of days. 

Back in the flat, she put the groceries away and stoked up the fire, ensuring the flat would be well-heated and comfortable by the time Minerva got home. She changed into comfortable casual clothing and began the process of making the beef stew, knowing it would do better if it cooked slowly at a low temperature. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva apparated into the living room and was assaulted by the tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen. She was tired from a long day’s studies, but was looking forward to a night with her witch. “Morgan?” 

The familiar red head popped out of her bedroom door, a bright smile lighting up her face. “You’re home!” Before she could brace herself against it, Morgan barreled through the door and wrapped her arms tightly around Minerva, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around a couple of times before setting her down and replacing one assault with another, this time from her lips. It was a long, but chaste, kiss, ending after a moment with both women smiling helplessly at being together again. 

“Can I expect a greeting like that one every day?” 

“Every day that I’m here, you definitely can.” 

“I may have to leave more often then, if I’m to be met like that.” 

“No, you’re not allowed to leave anymore. I missed you too much.” Morgan nuzzled against Minerva’s neck, placing tender kisses wherever her lips landed. 

“Mm, but I returned to you, what smells like a heavenly dinner – which I didn’t have to cook – and most importantly, you. What’s my incentive to stay?” 

“Me.” 

“Ah, but you’re the incentive for returning. You can’t also be the incentive to stay.” 

“Are you sure about that, Min?” 

Minerva chuckled, not sure of anything. “Not at all.” She pressed a kiss to Morgan’s temple. “What _is_ that delightful smell, anyway?” 

Morgan pulled her head back, smiling broadly. “Beef stew.” 

“I knew you were a devil-woman.” 

Their playful banter continued as they ate the thick, flavorful stew with warm slices of the fresh bread, washed down with a nice red wine Morgan had picked up. After the stew was gone, they each had another half glass of the wine, sipping at it slowly as they talked and the dishes washed themselves. The conversation went on late into the night, until neither Morgan nor Minerva could keep their hands to themselves, and they left a trail of clothes from the dining table to Minerva’s bed, collapsing into it. Words were, at that point, completely useless. 

After they were both spent, Minerva curled into Morgan’s side, as usual, pulled the covers up and over them, and they slept. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The rest of the week passed in a similar manner to Monday. Minerva would wake first, and reluctantly leave a sleepy and pouting Morgan in her bed while she went off to her studies. Morgan would lie there until the bed began to grow cold before rising and taking her own shower, spending the day either browsing around Diagon Alley or in various trendy Muggle neighborhoods of London, always returning to the little local shops to pick up fresh ingredients for their supper in the afternoons. While the food cooked, she would clean and straighten the flat, making sure that there were clean sheets on the beds each night. 

Minerva would return in the evenings and they would partake of the prepared meal before sitting down, usually cuddling on the sofa, but sometimes remaining at the dinner table as they had on Monday, and they would talk. The subjects they discussed varied from night to night, but were always intellectually stimulating. Thursday night, Minerva spoke about her family at Morgan’s request, regaling her with stories of the antics she and her brothers had gotten up to as they’d grown up. 

Morgan learned that Robert, Minerva’s father, was staid and serious, and frequently gave sermons of the “fire and brimstone” type, but that he tended to soften when gazing at the demure face of his eldest child and only daughter. He had slightly less tolerance for the behavior of his sons, but as they all grew older, he found it easier to show affection for them, doubtlessly plagued by the thoughts that they would all be gone soon. 

Isobel, on the other hand, was lively and vivacious, but tended to tamp down that part of her personality in order to portray the sober parson’s wife to his Muggle parishioners. She was very frugal in the running of her household, stretching every farthing as far as possible. She grew her own vegetables according to the seasons, and tended to the livestock, and lived a very severe life, caring for her family without the use of magic, her wand locked away in a box under her bed. 

Morgan wanted to bring small gifts to Robert, Isobel, and Malcolm as well as what she had contributed to Rob’s present from the family, but Minerva dissuaded her from the notion, saying that her family would think she was making a statement on their financial state if she brought anything at all. Morgan didn’t like the idea of showing up empty-handed, and asked if a couple bottles of wine would be acceptable to bring. Minerva thought that would probably be fine, and showed her gratitude for the touching gesture by taking her to bed and ravishing her body. All night long. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Friday morning, they both slept in, enjoying the novel sensation of being able to sate their morning desires for each other without worrying about Minerva leaving. When they finally left the bed, it was to head for a shared shower, from which they emerged vaguely clean, and saved from the frigid temperature of the water only by a well-practiced heating charm placed on the tap. 

Morgan persuaded Minerva to leave the bulk of her hair down, only pulling back the top and sides in the thin braid she’d worn when Morgan had arrived and they’d had their brief nap. Her own red and blonde locks were secured in the same loose bun she wore every day. 

“Should I wear robes or a dress, Min? If your mum and dad keep a predominately magic-free house, I should opt for the dresses, yeah?” She held out the pretty dresses she’d bought on Monday, then held up the robes from Madam Malkin’s. 

“Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. Muggle clothing at the house in case anyone comes by. The fancy dresses will be perfect for dinner, but more casual skirts will do for during the day. Expect Mum to press you into service during the day, so don’t take anything for daytime wear that you mind getting dirty.” Minerva laughed, but was inwardly worried that they would slip up or that someone would suss things out. 

A hand reached itself out to caress her cheek. “Hey.” Her eyes raised to catch the warm brown gaze aimed her way, seeing a mischievous glint flash across them. “Dinna ye worry, aye? I love ye, no matter what happens this weekend, and if they guess, weel, we’ll only cross that bridge if we must, ye ken?” She was touched by the words, but found herself dissolving in fits of laughter at the attempt to recreate her affected Scottish speech patterns. 

“No, no, please don’t do that in front of Mum and Dad. They’ll think we’ve both gone spare.” 

“At least I got you to smile, hmm?” 

“Aye, that you did. Thank you, Morgan.” She took a step forward and pressed her forehead against Morgan’s. “I love you.” 

“Love you, too. Now come on, dearie, we have to pack.” She lightly swatted at Minerva’s backside as she stepped away. 

They finished packing and Morgan stashed both of their suitcases in her little bag, tucking it into the inner pocket of her new cloak. They had wrapped Rob’s writing case securely in her smaller cloak to ensure no scratches or damage would occur inside the bag, but to be sure, she was being extra careful with everything she put in there, and with how she treated the bag itself. 

Making sure the fire was completely cold and that everything was off, Minerva wrapped her arms around Morgan’s waist, feeling as she was encircled by Morgan’s warmth as well. “Are you ready?” 

“Yep.” Morgan loudly popped the P sound at the end of the word, pressing a final gentle kiss to Minerva’s throat. “Let’s go, my darling.” 

Minerva inhaled deeply. “I … the next couple of days are going to be so hard, having you there within reach, but not being able to touch you. I just need another minute before we leave.” She felt Morgan’s arms tighten around her in response. 

“Just remember, when the weekend is over, you have me for another week before I have to go back to work. That’s another whole week of filling our nights together the way we want to, and not beneath your parents’ roof. We can make it, my darling, I promise.” Another kiss was pressed to the hollow of Minerva’s throat. “But for now, take all the time you need. I told you last week … I’m never going to let you go. Never.” 

A smile quirked up on one side of Minerva’s thin lips. “Devil-woman. Oh how I love you.” 

Then with a loud crack, the two witches disappeared. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Seconds later, another loud crack split the night far to the north. Minerva and Morgan arrived in the designated Apparition shed behind the manse, pulling apart reluctantly. “There’s still time to turn back if you don’t want to go through with this, Morgan.” 

“No, I’m here and even if they don’t know the depths of what I feel for you, thinking me only a friend, I still want to meet them. You… you may never get to meet mine, but I would very much like the honor of knowing your parents, even if I must lie to them in order to gain the privilege.” 

“Ahh,” Minerva groaned lightly. “ _A rúnsearc_. I never know quite what to call you. You are both things at once, my devil-woman. Now, give me one last kiss and we’ll go face the music.” 

Their lips met in a hungrily searing kiss, knowing it was the last one they were likely to get until they returned to London on Sunday. Their tongues tangled together greedily for several minutes, both women feeling the desire beginning to pool in that special pit just below their bellies. Morgan pulled back first, their chests heaving together as they fought to feed oxygen to their brains, having begun to see spots at the edge of her impaired vision. “Gods, I love you.” 

“And I love you, _a diabhal._ ” She nuzzled their noses together. “Let’s go.” 

Pulling apart for the last time, they stepped out of the shed and into the back garden, sitting at the crown of a tall hill overlooking the small village of Sarclet. The November wind was stinging at them, even through the heavy cloaks they wore. Behind them was the vegetable garden, and beyond that the barn for livestock. To the left, there was a twinkling glow coming from the village, some houses lit with the brighter glow of electric lights and some aglow with the burnished yellows and oranges of firelight. Out past the village, Morgan could see a dark expanse that she first thought to just be uninhabited farm land, but then the sound of waves breaking reached her ears, and she realized that the distant darkness was actually the North Sea. And to the right was the understated grandeur of Sarclet Hall, the small manse given to the village’s rector. It, also, was lit with a mixture of electric and fire lights, making the whole scene look very picturesque. 

“It’s beautiful, Min. Breathtaking, even in the darkness of a winter’s night.” 

“Aye, I agree, but then again, I’m a wee bit biased. This is where I grew up.” 

Morgan’s mind ran briefly to the posh London neighborhood where she’d grown up, and thought to herself that she would have much preferred to grow up here, among the waves and the heather, whose scent was drifting along in the night air along with the salty twang of the sea breeze. “You may be biased, but it is wonderful.” A shiver wrought its way up her spine, rattling her teeth together for a second. “Cold, but charming.” 

“It is cold. Let’s go inside before you freeze to death.” They trudged across the yard to the kitchen door at the back of the house, warmth spilling out with the light as Minerva opened it and let them in. 

“Mum? We’re here!” 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rúnsearc, táim i ngrá leat. - Gaelic. "My secret love, I am in love with you." (ah ROOeen-shark, TAW-im inHRAW lyat.) A rúnsearc literally means "My secret love" but can also be used to mean "My beloved" or "My soulmate", though the idea of a soulmate isn't the same in the UK as it is here in America (from what I gather in my googles). A rúnsearc is, however, a deeply passionate endearment reserved for lovers, and both the literal and figurative meanings fit at this point in the story, which is why I've chosen it. I get all these from googling for what I want, and I'm fairly certain I have everything correct, but if I don't, I deeply apologize. I've never had a deft hand for languages, although I love to listen to people speak them. Often, things just sound prettier when said in something other than English, even when the meaning behind the words is something really ugly, lol. I guess this is part of why they say ignorance is bliss. 
> 
> Concerning the Tartan, Caithness County historically belongs to the Clan Sinclair, and theirs is the one I've used for the throw/blanket. An image has been added to the Resources page if you would like to see what the plaid looks like.
> 
> A diabhal – Gaelic. “My devil.” Minerva’s been calling her “devil woman” in English; I thought it was fair play to have her call Morgan the same in Gaelic. (Oh, and don’t worry. Minerva gets her own pet name later on. I promise!)
> 
> Also, I’ve never been to Scotland, much less Sarclet. I have no idea if there’s a tall hill. I’m taking many creative liberties in writing this story, and I hope you can just roll with it with me.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Alright, so there’s a lot to go, and I’m trying to keep the pacing steady and not so fast that we miss important things, but not so slow that we get bored in the tedium of too many details. I sat down with my outline and I foresee at least another 30 or so chapters, which – if I continue with the word count per chapter that I’ve been getting – will have this story end at around 400k words. I’m a little intimidated by that, but if that’s what the story demands, then that is what I shall write. Overall, it’s going to end up being a lot more massive than I ever thought it would be, even if I can manage to keep the proper pacing. So bear with me, be patient, and above all… Enjoy! 
> 
> Special thanks go out to Paige for keeping me from majorly fucking things up. She knows why, and now, you guys never have to find out! Thank you! *squish*
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

“Mum?” Minerva called out again, forcing herself to release Morgan’s hand as the warmth of the kitchen hearth began to seep into their chilled bones. 

“Minerva, is that you?” A musically lilting voice drifted from behind a swinging door on the wall opposite the one from which they’d entered. 

“No, Mum, it’s some other woman walking into your house calling for their mother. Of course it’s me.” Minerva smiled, affectionately rolling her eyes. 

“Och, aye. There’s no need for sass, young lady.” The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Isobel Ross McGonagall breezed through it, startling Morgan with her appearance. She was as different from Minerva as possible. Where Minerva was tall and thin with a thick head of pin-straight black hair, Isobel was short – even shorter than Morgan, who was a good two inches shorter than Minerva – and very soft and curvy with light blonde hair filled with naturally loose curls that a teenaged Hermione would have killed for. There was a similar turn to the long patrician nose, but what most tied the two women together were the eyes. They were the exact same clearly brilliant shade of green, and rimmed with the same full, thick eyelashes. 

She stopped short of her goal of a basket filled with steaming hot rolls when she noticed Morgan standing just behind her daughter. “You brought a friend?” 

Morgan stepped forward, pulling the fur-lined gloves off and reaching out to offer her hand to the older woman. “Good evening, Mrs. McGonagall. I’m Morgan Stewart. Minerva’s been kind enough to allow me to stay with her for a couple of weeks while my work keeps me in the country. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Isobel took the offered hand in her firm grip, shaking briefly before pulling back and reaching for the bread basket. “Isobel McGonagall, but please, Isobel will do fine. We’re glad to finally have one of Minerva’s friends come visit.” 

“Is it alright, Mum? I didn’t think to ask before inviting her.” Minerva was worried when she realized her little faux-pas. 

“Of course, Minerva. We don’t have the spare room prepared, so you’ll have to share yours, but that shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll forego our no magic rule long enough for you to do something about the size of the bed, but otherwise, I don’t see any problems. Bring another place setting and come to dinner after you take your things up. Don’t take too long, or your brothers will eat everything and there won’t be any left for you two.” She carried the basket of hot bread in one hand, pressing the other against the swinging door. “Glad to have you with us, Miss Stewart.” 

“Happy to be here, Isobel. Thank you for your hospitality.” 

“You’re very welcome.” With that, she disappeared through the door, the yeasty smell of fresh bread wafting along with her. 

“That was relatively painless,” Morgan noted amusedly. 

“Relatively speaking, yes. Come on,” Minerva nodded toward the staircase in the corner next to the fireplace, leading Morgan upward. “I forgot to mention that we don’t use magic at home except in emergency situations. We try to blend in with our Muggle neighbors as much as possible.” 

They reached the landing and turned to walk down a long hallway. “I can handle that. I have no aversion to doing things the Muggle way.” 

They reached the last door on the left, and Minerva lifted the latch, granting them entrance to her bedroom. Flipping the switch on the wall upward, her childhood room was washed in the dim light of an electric bulb. The walls were whitewashed plaster with two gabled windows set along the far wall, the narrow single iron-frame bed between them, flanked by twin bedside tables, topped with electric lamps. To the right side of the bed, on the opposite side of the window, sat a wooden desk, immaculately organized and clean. Along the next wall was a tall bookshelf filled with volumes both of Muggle and Wizarding origin, many bound in leather, but one shelf was filled with slim paperback copies of Muggle fiction. 

The wooden floor had rag rugs scattered around for warmth, and the overall theme of the room was worn, but warm and inviting. The final wall was taken up by a tall wardrobe and a chest of drawers. It was next to the wardrobe that Minerva was standing, opening its door to hang her discarded cloak on an empty peg. “Give me your cloak and we’ll go down to eat before the boys devour it all.” 

Morgan handed it over wordlessly, soaking in the atmosphere of the place where Minerva had grown up and matured. Both cloaks now stashed neatly away, Minerva stepped forward, opening her arms and wrapping them around Morgan’s waist in a gentle hug, holding her for only a moment before stepping around her and out into the hallway. The embrace was far too short, but it was enough to bolster their strength to get through dinner. Morgan reached over and turned off the light, plunging them into near-darkness. Minerva led the way silently back to the staircase, and taking a deep breath, the two of them went downstairs to face the rest of the family. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Dinner went very well. Morgan was well-received as a guest, both Malcolm and Rob asking after her health, since the last time they had seen her, she was still suffering from amnesia. She assured them that she was doing quite well and that her memory had perfectly recovered. 

Robert McGonagall, Minerva’s father and the undoubted head of the family, seemed a little reticent, and soon after Minerva and Morgan were seated, his voice rang out across the formal dining table. “Miss… Stewart, was it? As you are a guest in my home, and as we know so little about you, I feel it necessary to ask your stance on Muggles and your world.” 

The room’s other occupants seemed to be holding their breath awaiting her response. Morgan sat her fork down gently beside her plate, took a small sip of water from the goblet in front of her before sitting it back in its place. Her posture had been mostly straight, but in preparing to answer the question, she straightened completely, meeting his dark gaze across the table and breathing in deeply before formulating her response. “That is a very loaded question, Mr. McGonagall, and if it were coming from anyone else, I would tell them just where to stick the non-response they would receive, as I am of the firm belief that one’s heritage is nobody’s business but their own.” 

She could hear Minerva hiss slightly to her right side. Squeezing her leg lightly under the table, Morgan continued. “However, I understand from Minerva that you are a Muggle, sir, and in deference to not only that but also the fact that you are my friend’s father, I will answer. 

“I was born to two Muggle parents, and was raised as one until I was nearly twelve and began my Magical education. Although I am English, I attended Beauxbatons Academy instead of Hogwarts because of a vague and distant family connection which has since been severed. Both of my parents were lost to me during the recent war, and I was left alone with very few friends. I have no problems with Muggles, Muggle-born witches and wizards, Half-bloods, or indeed with Purebloods, so long as they don’t spout off blood superiority to me. I have known – in my time – Vampires, Werewolves, Giants, and those of mixed heritage. None of it means a whit to me. People are all people, no matter who their parents were or from where they come.” 

She stopped talking and calmly took another sip of water, keeping her eyes on Robert, awaiting his response. 

“If your parents were both non-magical, as you claim, how did you have this family connection to a magical school?” He picked up a bite of his roast beef and began to chew it methodically, not breaking their eye contact. 

“Ah, yes. Apparently three or four generations back, one of my great grandparents was a Squib and left the magical world for the Muggle one.” 

He swallowed the bite of food. “I see. You seem well-acclimated to the magical world, but as my daughter has hopefully informed you, we do not allow magic to be performed in this house so that we may remain fully integrated with our neighbors and my congregation. Will you be able to uphold this rule while you are under my roof?” 

His dark eyes bored into her, and Morgan clearly saw Minerva in her father. The shape of their faces, the heavy fall of dark hair, the thin lips were all so similar, as were their tall, thin frames. Malcolm shared the same features Minerva and her father had in common, but had also been given the dark brown eyes that bordered on black. Rob, on the other hand, was much more like his mother in color and shape, only taking from his father swirls of brown in the sea of jade green eyes. 

“Isobel gave us permission to enlarge Minerva’s bed, as the spare room isn’t prepared, but other than that, I shouldn’t think living without magic for a couple of days will do me any harm whatsoever. By habit, I would like to keep my wand on my person, but it will stay hidden away unless some situation makes its use necessary. Is that acceptable to you?” Morgan kept her tone even and her voice strong, wanting desperately for Minerva’s family to accept her, even with the web of lies and half-truths she was spinning in building a past for ‘Morgan Stewart’ out of shreds and pieces of her life as Hermione. 

“I think we have an accord, Miss Stewart.” 

“Please, call me Morgan.” She flashed a smile in his direction. 

“As you wish. I hope very much that you enjoy your stay with us.” His voice carried through the room, rich and deep and clear, acceptance easy to read in it. 

“Thank you, sir. I have every hope of doing so.” She felt Minerva’s hand briefly grasp at hers under the table before it slithered away again. The meal resumed, conversation much lighter and easier after Robert and Morgan’s little clash of wills. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

After dinner, Morgan withdrew to the kitchen to help Isobel and Minerva with the dishes. They exchanged a few pleasantries, but the job passed mostly in silence with Isobel scrubbing, Morgan rinsing, and Minerva drying the clean dishes and putting them away. 

Once all the dishes were finished, Isobel kissed Minerva’s cheek, nodded her thanks to Morgan, and went up to bed, leaving the two younger witches alone in the kitchen. Minerva took Morgan’s hand and led her back up the back staircase and back into the dimness of her bedroom. 

“Can you take care of the bed?” Minerva was subdued, her voice quiet, as she stood in front of the tall wardrobe and began unfastening her dress. 

“I can,” Morgan replied, equally quiet, not wanting to rouse the house’s other occupants. A quick series of wand waves grew the single bed into a comfortable double, the sheets and quilt following suit. Not seeing a fireplace or radiator for heat, and feeling the chill of the room, she added a discreet long-lasting warming charm to the quilt. She duplicated the thick down pillow, and found herself finished. Turning back to the wardrobe, she could see Minerva had donned a long nightgown like the one she’d worn when they had shared a bed at the Three Broomsticks the night they’d met, and put her hair into her nightly braid. 

Minerva turned to face her and blushed lightly at the raised eyebrow she received from her lover. “Well, I can’t very well sleep nude in my parents’ home. It would be disrespectful.” 

“No, I suppose not.” 

“You did bring something to sleep in, didn’t you?” There was panic in her eyes, the timbre of her voice rising as she squeaked out the final two words. 

“Of course I did, Min. You didn’t think I was going to ravage you without the benefit of a silencing charm or guaranteed privacy, did you?” The eyebrow raised itself twice in quick succession, followed by a playful wink. 

A hot blush suffused Minerva’s face and chest at the thought of being ‘ravaged’ and how much she would like it, even in their current location. She was also a little annoyed at the remark, having thought she’d impressed the seriousness of the situation with her parents on Morgan before they’d left. She walked to the bed and started fluffing the pillow angrily, spinning to sit on the edge of the mattress, facing Morgan. As her gaze reached its intended target, her mouth dried out and dropped open. A week of near-constant access to Morgan’s naked body had done nothing to cool the ardor she felt when faced with the tanned perfection of the toned physique of her girlfriend. 

All thoughts of anger fled her mind, replaced by overwhelming desire, a rush of blood and moisture heading straight for her center. As she watched, Morgan pulled on a loose pair of striped pajama bottoms, tying the drawstring so that they barely sat on her hips before swinging the button-up top around her shoulders, covering the smooth expanse of her back with the light material. Deft hands quickly secured the buttons and pulled her loose mass of hair out of the collar to drape in waves down the striped pajama top. Like Minerva had done earlier, she quickly braided her hair and tied it off at the end with a bit of ribbon. 

Turning her head slowly to the left, she looked over her shoulder at Minerva, who was clutching tightly at the edge of the mattress, breathing impacted and heavy, normally clear green eyes darkened and clouded with want and need. “Did you like what you saw, Min?” She could see as Minerva swallowed heavily, unable to make herself speak. Morgan sauntered toward the other side of the bed, swinging her hips with each step and noticing how it was affecting Minerva. “Too bad we’re under these restrictions.” 

Just as she reached the corner of the bed, she felt a cool hand sliding through the gap between two of her buttons to trace a random pattern on the warm skin of her belly, stopping her in her tracks. “Maybe I was too hasty with the restrictions.” Minerva’s voice was husky, her cool fingers trailing fire behind them. “But my door doesn’t have a lock. Could you?” 

Morgan had left her wand in the wardrobe, but with a wave of her fingers and a muttered “ _Colloportus_ ,” the door was firmly locked. Another whispered word ensured that they wouldn’t be heard. “Won’t they be suspicious when they can’t open the door or hear anything from within?” 

The buttons on Morgan’s top were all but undone, only the top one left fastened. “We’ll just have to remember to reverse the spells after.” Minerva’s free right hand grabbed at Morgan’s left, pulling it up to bury her lips in its palm as the final button was freed from its hole, the two sides of the shirt falling to either side. “Oh gods, you must really be a devil-woman. The things you do to me without even trying, _a diabhal._ The things you make me do.” She pulled Morgan in closer to where she sat at the end of the bed, resting her forehead and nose against the bared skin in front of her, eyes closed. 

Morgan ran the fingers of her right hand through the loose strands of hair at Minerva’s temple, her nails scraping lightly at the scalp. “All teasing aside, Min, we don’t have to. I’d be just as happy to sleep beside you without anything else as I would to sleep beside you after. You know I’d never force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” 

“Aye, I know, and that’s part of why I love you so much, but gods Morgan, I can’t seem to get enough of you. We just won’t tell them we worked a bit more magic than we should have.” She pressed a tender kiss to Morgan’s stomach and felt the underlying muscles twitch at the contact. “There’s a certain magic to this as well, aye?” 

“The best magic of all, Min. The very best.” 

They barely remembered to unlock the door and cancel the silencing spell, but just as she was about to drift off, Morgan did remember and cancelled both spells with whispered words, using another couple to clean them up and fasten her pajamas back before wrapping her arms around Minerva and passing into sleep spooned up against her back. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next morning, Minerva woke first and snuggled back into the warm cocoon of Morgan’s body, not opening her eyes to the dim winter sunshine streaming through her windows. Instead, she pulled the sagging quilt up, feeling the warmth emanating from it and knew she had Morgan to thank. She tugged the quilt over their shoulders, turning to snuggle closer to Morgan, burying her face into the crook of her neck and placing a series of soft kisses over the fluttering pulse at its base. 

She persisted, and felt the pulse quicken, knowing Morgan was waking. A hand rose, fingers scratching gently through the hair at her temple, the pressure leading Minerva to raise her face toward the sun of her existence. Neither of them had yet opened their eyes, but both opened their mouths, instinctively seeking the comfort and love of each other’s kisses. They licked, nipped, and caressed, fully waking only slowly, languidly. 

Finally, the kiss broke off and honey-colored eyes met the sun, her kiss-swollen lips pressing tenderly to the center of Minerva’s forehead before pulling back, forming words she swore she would never take for granted again. “Good morning, my darling. I love you.” 

Minerva had tucked her head back into the curve of her neck, and Morgan could feel the rumble of her voice against the tender skin. “I love you, too, _a rúnsearc._ ” 

They nuzzled and snuggled together, soaking in the warmth of each other and the heated blanket, reveling in the oddity of a lie-in. A light rapping on the door had the same effect of a bucket of cold water thrown over them as they sprang apart, Minerva finally opening her eyes as she jumped from the bed and ran to answer the door. 

Isobel was on the other side, wondering about Rob’s gift. Minerva promised to have it downstairs no more than ten minutes later, and latched the door as her mother went down to begin breakfast preparations. 

Minerva pressed her back against the door, listening as the tapping rhythm of the footsteps got fainter before disappearing completely as Isobel made her way down the back staircase to the kitchen. “That was close, Morgan. Too close.” 

“I agree. It’s only another day and night, though, no? I think I can behave until we’re back home.” 

“We’ll both just have to. I can’t run the risk of something like that happening again when we’re unguarded. You know I love you, but I can’t deal with this right now.” Her knees began to give out, and she slid down the door, slumping backward as her bottom hit the floor. Morgan was at her side in seconds, pressing her hand against Minerva’s cheek, frantically searching her eyes and face for further signs of distress. “Are you okay, Min? Please say you’re okay.” 

“I’ll be fine, Morgan. Just help me up, give me one last kiss until we go home, and then I must get dressed and get downstairs with Rob’s gift.” Morgan stood and offered both hands down, pulling Minerva gently to her feet, embracing her as she stumbled. Taking advantage of their proximity, they melted together, Morgan’s face raising so that their lips met in a lingering but chaste kiss. Minerva gave in to her desires for that brief moment before pulling back, cupping Morgan’s cheek in her hand, her thumb brushing over the area so recently vacated by her lips. 

“ _Táim i ngrá leat,_ ” she whispered before pressing a final kiss to the center of Morgan’s forehead and stepping back. “I have to get dressed and get downstairs now. Mum will be looking for me.” 

“I love you, too, Min. I hope you know that.” 

“Have you been taking secret Gaelic lessons then?” Her nightgown came over her head and landed on the floor in a pool of cotton and lace. 

“No, and I have no idea exactly what you said, but there’s a certain way you speak when you tell me you love me.” 

Minerva pulled on her underwear and reached for a long-sleeved grey woolen dress, tugging it over her head against the room’s chill. She smoothed her braid and retied the ribbon. Having finished dressing, she handed Morgan’s purse to her and asked if she could retrieve the writing case. While Morgan rummaged through the contents of her purse, Minerva sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her short boots, lacing them with the quick ease of habit. 

Taking the wooden case, she told Morgan there was a washroom in the next room over if she needed it. It had a bathtub, but no shower attachment, and if she hurried, she could get a jump on the boys and actually have hot water for her bath. A quick peck on the cheek later, she was gone. 

Morgan began to wiggle her fingers and whisper spell words to clean the room and make the bed, but stopped herself before the magic could escape. She craved the full acceptance of Minerva’s family, the need compounded by the memory of her own mother’s yelling tirade when she’d restored their memories, and her father’s easy acceptance of the vitriol spewed by her mother. 

Minerva’s family had asked so little of her; only that she be respectful and not use magic while in their home, and she’d broken her promises on both parts by not only tempting Minerva like the devil-woman she was so frequently accused of being, but also by casting the locking and silencing charms against their wishes. She felt bad enough about having to lie to them concerning the nature of her relationship with Minerva, and now this on top of it all. 

She could do better, and she would. She started by making the bed by hand, deciding with a twinge to leave the heating charm on the quilt, knowing it would be needed in the cold of night if they weren’t to have any “exercise” to warm them up. The bed taken care of, she moved to the wardrobe and picked up Minerva’s discarded nightgown, bringing it to her nose and breathing in the spicy mix of scents that made up “eau de Minerva” before folding it carefully and putting it away. 

Deciding to wait until the evening for her bath, she removed her own pajamas and put them away with Minerva’s nightgown before pulling on clean underwear and an outfit comprised of clothing she’d purchased in Muggle London on Monday. She freed her hair from its braid, running a brush through it quickly before securing it in the loose bun which she’d become accustomed to wearing. She slipped her feet into the slightly-heeled black shoes she’d brought with her from her own time, and closed the doors of the wardrobe, ready to face the day. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The day passed in a flurry of cooking and other preparations for the night’s party, interrupted from time to time by neighbors dropping by to wish Rob a happy birthday, some leaving small trinkets as gifts, some leaving food items, but most leaving nothing at all apart from their well-wishes. 

The men of the family held court for the visitors in the front sitting room, the women working hard in the kitchen. Most of their neighbors stopped by only for a moment, work waiting for them at home even on a cold wintery Saturday, though after their visit in the sitting room, most would make a brief appearance in the kitchen as well to greet Isobel and Minerva. Morgan made an excellent impression on all those she met, her smiles and hard work surpassing everyone’s expectations of the London native. 

Morgan noticed a moment of tension between a sandy-haired visitor and Minerva before the visitor left with a look of immense sadness on his face. She caught Minerva’s eyes for a moment, the unspoken words asking if she was okay. A terse nod accompanied by a mouthed “later” was enough to set them both back at ease, and they got back to work. 

At the small family-only party later that night, Rob was presented with his writing case and instantly fell in love with it. When he opened the top and found the supplies hidden within, he was delighted with the Slytherin-themed quills, the more modern pen, and the ink that would last him, between the already liquid and the dried powder, for nearly another year, even with his voracious writing habits. 

He closed the case back reverently and turned it to look at the little drawers on the back. Morgan showed him, with Robert’s permission, how to key himself and others into the extension spell on the top drawer, and how to revoke the keys if someone turned out to be less than trustworthy later. When he was able to see the full extent of how much the drawer had been enlarged, he did something completely unexpected, especially given that he was in Slytherin, and threw himself into Morgan’s arms in a tight hug. His blonde head tucked itself under her chin, and she awkwardly wrapped her arms around to pat his back lightly. 

Jealous of the perfect gift, Malcolm muttered under his breath something to the effect of “It might be pretty and functional, but I bet it weighs a ton.” 

Glaring at him, Minerva took up the gauntlet and explained that it had also been fitted with a permanent Feather-light charm so that it would never be too heavy to carry around. Rob’s very un-Slytherin-like embrace moved at that point from Morgan to his sister, clinging to her for a couple of minutes before moving to hug his mother, this time a bit more sedately. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and thanked his family for the gift, adding that it was the best present he could have ever gotten. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

“He likes you, you know?” 

Morgan had just come back from her bath, dressed in the grey and white striped pajamas, her damp hair braided thickly down her back. “Who, Rob?” She folded her dirty clothes and put them away, her head turning toward Minerva, who was sitting on the bed with her legs drawn up in front of her chest, her cheek resting on her knees. 

“Aye. I think he’s fair besotted.” She had a pensive look on her face, her eyes sad. 

“Well, I’m sorry for him. I can’t even tell him just how off-limits I am. He’s lovely for fifteen. My two best friends at that age were giant prats compared to him.” She reached a hand for the overhead light switch, and Minerva moved to turn on the lamp on her side of the bed. 

“Your best friends were both male?” Minerva didn’t know why it should surprise her, but it did. She stretched over and turned on the other lamp and then sat back up in her previous position. 

“Yes.” She pressed the switch down, leaving them in the dim light of the lamps, and crossed over to her side of the bed, sliding between the sheets, thankful for the light warming charm she’d left on the quilt. “But that’s a story for another time, Min. What happened with that man in the kitchen earlier?” 

“Could you cast a silencing charm? My wand’s in the wardrobe, and I’m not as good at wandless magic as you are.” 

Morgan’s right hand lifted to press against the small of Minerva’s back. “If it’s really necessary, I will, but if we can do this with just talking quietly, I’d prefer it. I feel like your parents haven’t asked much of me, other than living a couple of days without magic, and thus far, I’ve failed miserably.” She still felt guilty about the previous night, and she frowned thinking of all the magic she’d done. 

“I… Damn.” Minerva shifted uncomfortably, still looking away from Morgan. “Aye, we can do it that way, but this is something I’ve not even told my family about.” She took a deep breath in and began speaking, Morgan’s hand comforting as it rested on her back, bolstering her strength. 

“After I left Hogwarts, I came home for a brief visit. While I was here, I met Dougal while out on a walk. For a month, we met every day for a while – except on Sunday, of course. We walked a fair bit of the nearby farms on the sunny days, and on the rainy days, we’d find somewhere dry to sit and just talk. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with him, or for him to fall for me. 

“One day, close to the end of that month, we were walking down a dirt path alongside a field of wheat, when he suddenly dropped to one knee and proposed. Thinking for the first time only with my heart, I accepted, and was given my first kiss. It wasn’t anything like what we share, but at the time, I suppose I liked it. I didn’t like his scratchy beard, though I was just going to ask him to shave.” She shrugged at the passing comment, and mentally, Morgan agreed. She’d never cared for an unshaven Ron, either. 

“The rest of our walk passed with us holding hands and me giggling every so often like the schoolgirl I had just ceased to be. But when I got home and started thinking about it, I realized I was dooming both of us to a life of secrecy like Mum had done to Dad. The Statute of Secrecy would guarantee he couldn’t know anything of my magic until after we were married, and I didn’t know how he would respond to the news. 

“Unwilling to subject either of us to that kind of heartbreak, I got up early the next morning and walked until finally it was time to meet him. He kissed me again, but I couldn’t respond knowing what I was about to do to him. I broke his heart, Morgan, and because of the Statute of Secrecy, I couldn’t even tell him why. He still has no idea, and every time I’m home, he comes by to ask for another chance.” 

A single teardrop rolled down her face. “I still can’t tell him why a marriage between us would never work out, and there are even more reasons behind that now with you and the realizations you’ve brought to me. He’ll never give up until he moves on, and I’ll never be able to give in to his demands, or even tell him why.” 

“Do you still love him?” Morgan’s voice was soft and quiet, but she hid all emotion behind the impenetrable mask she’d built over the years. 

Minerva’s head jerked around quickly, facing her lover with eyes brimming with unshed tears. “No. I’m certain that I still was in love with him until you came into my life, but after you raked those beautiful eyes up and down my body in the back room of the tavern, I’ve wanted and loved none but you. My heart lies safely within you, _a rúnsearc_ , and there it will remain. 

“I left here three days after that encounter, and ran to Albus, spending the next year helping rid the Wizarding world of Grindelwald, and the Muggle world of Hitler. I think it’s one reason he’s funding my Apprenticeship in the way he is. Most don’t provide a place to live or a living stipend the way he does. In a moment of weakness after an injury, however, I confided to him about the situation, and he knew I wouldn’t be able to say home full time while pursuing my Mastery without raising questions that simply couldn’t be answered.” 

Morgan tugged affectionately on the end of Minerva’s braid, drawing her gaze back from where it had been diverted while she spoke of Dumbledore. “You make it sound like you and your benefactor are close.” 

“We are and we aren’t. I don’t think anyone could come out of the situations we survived without a certain amount of camaraderie, and then he was my teacher for seven years as well at Hogwarts. I think you and he would get along if you ever met.” 

“Perhaps we would.” Both women were quiet for a minute, silently thinking. 

“Do you anticipate Dougal being a problem in the future? Assuming I make other visits with you, I mean.” 

“No, I shouldn’t think so. Will he be a problem for you? Knowing our past?” 

“No, I don’t think it will be. You said that your heart is safely within me, Min, and mine is irrevocably within you. I trust that you won’t break it.” 

Minerva finally lay down, still on top of the quilt, turning onto her side to face Morgan. “I know we can’t be together tonight, unless you’re willing to cast those silencing and locking charms again, but even so, can I still sleep in your arms?” 

“Of course, Min.” She reached over to run her nails softly through the hair at Minerva’s temple, tracing a line back, curving around behind her ear. “I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in the same bed with you without feeling you next to me.” Her fingers continued their curving line around to caress the strong jawline, running her thumb over the high cheekbone, wiping away an escaping tear. Her voice lowered, barely audible even in the silence of the room. “I do love you, Min. With all that I am.” 

With a groan, Minerva pushed herself forward, desperately kissing Morgan with all the pent-up love and frustration she’d felt at having to hide her feelings all day. She knew they couldn’t do more, but she was determined to at least get a really good kiss in before they fell asleep. The kiss went on for several minutes, breaking momentarily several times to allow them to breathe, but resuming with a ferocity as soon as they’d gotten a good lungful of air. 

Finally, they broke apart, panting raggedly, both wanting more, but not willing to allow anything further to happen. Minerva slid under the blanket and reached to turn her lamp off, Morgan doing the same with hers, and they snuggled together the same way they’d done the night before, Morgan’s front pressed tightly to Minerva’s back, their left hands laced together and pressed against Minerva’s chest. Sleep quickly followed. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

They woke early the next morning and dressed in silence, sneaking longing peeks at each other before heading down to an excellently prepared breakfast with Isobel and Robert, the boys still asleep. Just as they finally made an appearance, Robert leaned down and gave his wife a small kiss on her cheek before disappearing upstairs to begin preparation for his morning sermon. 

“Are you planning to stay for the service, or do you need to get back to London early?” Isobel asked, her voice warm and comforting. 

“I thought we’d head back after breakfast, Mum. Lots to do to prepare for the week since we’ve been gone most of the weekend.” 

Isobel nodded. “I understand that, and so does your father. Would you two mind getting the boys back to school on your way?” 

“Aw, Mum, I have my license now.” Malcolm complained around bites of his breakfast. 

“I know, dear, but taking someone side-along is a bit harder than just making sure you can get yourself there in one piece. I’d feel better this way.” 

“Aw, but Mum.” 

“It won’t be a problem at all.” Morgan’s voice interrupted his whining. “Although, if I’m being honest, when I was seventeen and eighteen, I regularly apparated myself and two others all over as part of the war effort. It’s not impossible, even for one so new to the practice. It only takes an extraordinarily focused mind, which I think is only possible in this family from what I’ve observed.” 

Malcolm was surprised at both the admission of what she’d done and at her defense of his wanting to try. 

“I thank you for your belief in his ability, but I would rather not risk either of them splinching today.” Isobel’s tone was one that would brook no arguments, and any further thoughts of opposing her view were squashed in that moment. 

Catching his eye from across the table, Morgan surreptitiously winked at him, and his face lit up in a grin. 

Morgan and Minerva then dismissed themselves from the table and went upstairs to pack up their things so they would be ready whenever the boys peeled themselves away from the table and packed up themselves. 

Their things were laid out on the bed, dirty separated from clean, and Morgan silently conjured up a small cloth sack to put the dirty items in until they could be washed, internally begging forgiveness for the bit of magic for which she hadn’t asked permission. As they were folding their clothes and getting ready to place them in their respective bags, Minerva couldn’t hold her questions back any longer. 

“The two people you apparated around during the war… were those the two friends you spoke of last night?” 

“They were.” A folded nightgown went into the conjured sack. 

“Can you … will you tell me about them?” A clean dress was carefully rolled to prevent creases and placed into the suitcase Morgan had brought with them. 

Morgan sighed, tossing in a pair of stockings. “I can tell you a little, but there are parts of my past I won’t ever be able to talk about, Min. I know we have a no-secrets rule, but some things are just … off limits.” 

Another dress was rolled and put into the suitcase. “I can accept that. Tell me what you can. I want to know you better, Morgan.” 

Checking to be sure the door was closed, Morgan took a step closer to Minerva and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her forehead, then stepped back and threw a pair of worn knickers into the dirty bag. “We were friends from our first year. I was twelve and they were eleven, and I had inhaled all my schoolbooks before I made it to school. Henri had come from a miserable home-life and was hungry for real attention. He was connected to some very famous people, and he got more attention than he wanted, and none of it was for him as himself, and that’s what he wanted. He needed to be seen as just himself and not the relative of famous people.” 

Another shirt was folded and put into the sack. “Russell was much the same, wanting to be seen for his own merits, as he’d come from a large poor family. He was brilliant in his own way, but a bit judgmental at times, and had not a little cruel streak in him. He spent the first few months of our first year insulting me for my brain and my own need to be accepted as a valuable member of the Wizarding world, since I’d come from Muggles.” 

“I don’t think I would like him much. Coming from the Muggle world sets you at a horrible disadvantage, but if you work hard, you can overcome the lack of basic knowledge. I would know. For all that Mum’s a Pureblood, she never uses magic at all, so I might as well be a Muggle-born for the knowledge I gained as a child before Hogwarts.” Another two dresses were rolled and packed away. 

Morgan’s brain smirked, thinking about how future Minerva had always responded positively to both young Hermione and Harry, but had never had a great deal of respect for Ron, apart from appreciating his skills with chess after he won the match at the end of their first year. 

“Indeed. We had an incident about three months into the school year, however, where Henri and Russell and I bonded, and we were fast friends afterward. Russ started letting go of his prejudices, we all started to see each other for the strengths and weaknesses we each had, and we stayed friends for a long time; even after school. We all thought that together, there wasn’t a problem we couldn’t overcome, so we joined the war effort together. I was, by far, the best of us at Apparition, so I took all three of us everywhere. I only partially splinched Russ once, and Essence of Dittany saved his arm. After that, I never splinched anyone again, even when taking rather more than just the three of us with me. 

“Before the war was over, however, my talents were noticed by the Department of Mysteries, and I was initiated and trained in secret on an accelerated timeline. I missed Grindelwald’s final stand with your Dumbledore because of part of that training. My parents… well, the air strikes had to hit somewhere, didn’t they?” 

While she talked, the rest of their dirty clothes had been packed away in the conjured sack, and Minerva had finished packing the clean things. Both the bag and the suitcase were shoved into the little purse, and they sat on the edge of the bed next to each other. 

“Were you ever romantic with Henri or Russell?” There was a lump in Minerva’s throat as she asked. 

“In the interest of honesty, Russ and I had a thing for a while. He was actually my first experience with sex, and I had a couple of short flings with women after that. I do like both, but I like women far better. It was a non-issue, however, the moment I met you, Min.” Morgan could feel Minerva tensing up at her response, and dropped to her knees on the floor and spun around to face her, settling between her knees, a hand caressing Minerva’s cheek softly. “You may not have been my first, physically, but you’re my first, last, and everything when it comes to real love.” 

She shot a quick look to the door, making sure it was still closed before raising herself and pressing her lips firmly to Minerva’s for a moment. Not feeling a response, she pulled back and saw tears falling one by one from the thick lashes surrounding clear pools the color of lush forests just after a rainstorm. There was a darkness there, to be sure, but they were also brimming with life and love. “You are at once, Min, both the quiet and confusion of my heart. I promised never to lie to you, and you asked. Do you think less of me because of my past?” 

“No, not truly. It just surprised me. Before you, I had kissed one person twice, and that was it. I knew you had more experience, but to have it spelled out is … it’s a lot to take in. I could never love you less, though. Every one of those … experiences … brought you closer to me, and so I cannot begrudge you for having had them, but I think I may never want to discuss them again. 

“Will I … will we … do you think I will ever have to meet Henri or Russell?” 

Morgan’s heart was breaking on the inside, knowing that while Minerva would, in fact meet both of them and have relationships with them, she wouldn’t know that Henri was Harry and Russell was Ronald. 

“I can’t say for certain, Min.” Another lie dripped from her lips. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t think it will be necessary for some years. What I do know for sure is that because of my job, there may be long stretches of time when I won’t be able to be here for you, and I may be spending part of that time away from you with the two of them, as they were recruited with me. However, when I am with you, Min, I will be with you in every possible way. And when I’m away, my heart will remain with you, awaiting the time I can return to you. I mean what I said; I may have been physical with him in the past, but you are my first and last when it comes to love. 

“I will never let you go unless you truly tell me to leave, and even then, I will never be with him again, or with anyone else, either. You own me, Min, heart, mind, body, and soul. I am yours. I love you, and none other, forever.” 

The dams broke, and both women had tears streaming down their faces, lips meeting gently for a brief moment before parting again, the taste of salt on their lips. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Um. Sorry. Mum sent me up to see if you were ready yet. Malcolm and I are ready. I knocked, you know, but nobody answered.” Rob stammered from the door, shocked by what he had seen and heard. 

Morgan stood, her wand pulled from its sheath and aimed in his direction with the same fluid motion as her legs straightened beneath her, her other hand automatically reaching to shield Minerva where she still sat on the bed. “I guess you should come in, Rob.” Her voice was cold, not unlike the one she used in her Pureblood persona when traversing Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. 

He gulped and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Rob, but I need to know that this goes no further than this room.” 

She felt Minerva tugging on the arm in front of her. “Morgan, let me handle this, please. I’ve no doubt you’ve scared his pants off, but you’re scaring me as well.” 

It had often been remarked that in times of stress or anger, sparks would jump from the frizzy brown locks covering Hermione Granger’s head, and neither the change in color nor texture could stop them from appearing as she stood in perfect fighting stance. It had always taken several minutes of deep breathing to make them disappear in the past, but new things were happening as Minerva’s touch on her arm and gentle words made the arcs of electricity fade and stop almost immediately. Morgan turned her head to face Minerva, bumping her forehead against the taller witch’s gently. 

“Fine, Min, but if he can’t act reasonably about this, I am quite proficient with Memory Charms, and I won’t hesitate to use one on him.” Her nose nuzzled against Minerva’s for a split second before Minerva removed herself from her position behind the redhead, one final spark arcing from her head toward the smooth black braid trailing down Minerva’s back. Instead of the sharp pain she’d expected, however, the shock of electricity felt warm and inviting, as though she was being wrapped in Morgan’s soul. She couldn’t help the small smile that passed her lips as the feeling washed over her. 

“Of course. If it comes to that, I’ll allow it, but I don’t think that will be necessary, will it Robert?” Her eyes took on a menacing gleam, and where Morgan had scared him, his sister terrified him when she looked like that. 

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not sure what I saw, other than it looked you two were as close as… oh… lovers?” His brow furrowed in thought. 

“It is possible, you know.” Minerva’s voice was quiet, but still had the hard edge of anger at being found out. 

“Oh, I know that. Slytherin is full of those who take what they need from whatever source is available. I just didn’t know my older sister was into that. We don’t talk about it much, but everyone knows that some blokes prefer other blokes, and some women are the same. There are even rumors about a couple of our professors, but they’re not confirmed or anything.” 

“Well, that’s the core of what’s going on.” Minerva blushed lightly as Morgan’s business voice affected her in a way that was inappropriate in front of her fifteen-year-old brother. 

“Listen, Rob, if you can keep it to yourself, then I can probably talk her out of modifying your memory, but if this is going to be a problem, then I’ll let her do it. I’ll be sorry, and I’ll hate that it will have been done, but it’s like you said, even in Slytherin, you don’t talk about it much, and this cannot be talked about. Not now.” 

“No problem. I’m not in the Snake house for nothing. It’s a shame though.” He looked at Morgan, who had relaxed and stood down from her fighting stance, and grinned at her. “If you weren’t dating my sister, you could have had this fine specimen of the male McGonagalls.” 

His preening look was the final straw, and all three of them broke into deep laughter, all tension in the room gone. After they had all taken a moment to collect themselves, Rob spoke again. “Now back to my original question. Are you two ready? Malcolm and I threw all our things together already. He has some homework left undone and wants to get back quickly so he can moon over Augusta for the rest of the evening.” 

“Augusta? And yes, we’re ready.” 

“Augusta Hornblower. Gryffindor.” His nose crinkled just slightly. “Malcolm fancies her, but she’s stuck on Lupercus Longbottom.” 

Morgan laughed at the idea of Neville’s gran as a schoolgirl, the references not slipping past her. She was a tough old bird back in Hermione’s time, and they’d always gotten along well. 

“If she truly has her sights set on this Longbottom, I doubt he stands a chance at resisting her.” Morgan made her ‘prediction’ with a small giggle. “Anyway, go on down and let your mum know we’ll be down momentarily. Just need to double check that we haven’t forgotten anything, and deal with resizing the bed.” 

“Alright. See you in a minute, then.” He left, closing the door behind him, the three of them having grown just a little closer together through their conversation. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva did the final check on the wardrobe while Morgan cancelled the changes she’d made to the bed, making sure to remove the heating charm from the quilt. They came in handy, but long-term use had been known to lead to what some Muggles referred to as Spontaneous Combustion. Tucking her little beaded purse into the pocket of her cloak, they headed downstairs to say their goodbyes. 

Robert was on his way out, heavy Bible in hand, along with a notepad full of sermon notes. He gave the boys each a quick hug, admonishing them to behave at school, then turned to Minerva, enfolding her in a somewhat warmer hug, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, giving her a gentler reminder to do well in her studies. He pressed a similar kiss to Isobel’s blond curls, and then, to everyone’s surprise, he gave Morgan the same brief hug he’d bestowed on his sons, thanking her for her contributions to Rob’s party and gift, and issuing an open invitation to return whenever she desired. 

Without waiting for a reply, he swept out the door and began the short trek down to the church, knowing Isobel would follow once everyone had left. He cut quite a figure, a man in the prime of his life at forty-six, with the billowing robes of a minister flowing around him. Morgan could see what Isobel had seen in him all those years earlier when they’d fallen in love. Because of the differences in aging between Muggles and the Wizarding population, Isobel appeared a good bit younger, but a life of hard work in caring for her family had left their marks in laugh wrinkles at the edges of her eyes and mouth. 

Before leaving to follow her husband, she gave each of her children a tight, warm hug, and a kiss on each cheek. Morgan received the same treatment, and a reissue of her husband’s open invitation for a visit. Their openness and willingness to accept her as part of Minerva’s life, even if they weren’t fully aware of the depth of their involvement, caused a couple of tears to fall. Why couldn’t her parents have been like this? 

As soon as she set off toward the church herself, the rest of them paired off, Rob going with Minerva for the trip back to Hogwarts, and Malcolm standing next to Morgan. Rob and Minerva entered the little shed set aside for Apparition first, and seconds later, it stood empty after a loud crack was heard from within. 

“I want you to know, Malcolm, that I trust you, but on the chance that you do actually splinch me, tell Minerva to summon the bottle of Dittany from my bag and douse the wound liberally, hm? And if that doesn’t work, run like hell for Madam Mairead at the inn and have her send for Healer Clark.” 

His eyes grew large at the meaning behind her words. “You’re going to let me Apparate us? When Mum expressly forbid it?” 

“Well, she didn’t actually. She forbade you from Apparating with your brother. Minerva took him, and she didn’t say anything about taking me with you instead of the other way around. Are you really confident you can do it?” She opened the door to the shed and stepped inside, waiting for him to join her. 

“I am!” He quickly entered the shed and closed the door behind him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“I’m as confident in your abilities as you are. So take hold of my arm, and remember what I said in case of splinching.” 

He did as she asked, and with another crack, they both disappeared from the shed, appearing almost immediately on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, everything exactly where it was supposed to be. 

With a large grin on his face, he whooped around in circles. “I did it!” 

“You did what?” His sister’s voice was nearly acidic. 

The whooping and dancing ceased without preamble. “I, uh, Morgan… Miss Stewart let me Apparate us. And I didn’t splinch either of us.” The grin returned to his face, lighting it up. “I told Mum I could do it.” 

“I suppose so. Now get up that path and return to school.” 

Malcolm turned his attention back to Morgan, who stood softly smiling. “Will we see you next month for my birthday and Christmas?” 

“Please say we will, Miss Stewart!” Rob added, excitedly. 

“I can’t say for sure, but if it’s at all possible, I’ll be there.” 

They both descended on her, giving simultaneous hugs before giving Minerva the same treatment and running up the path to the gates, waiting open for them to return. As they stepped through and the gates began swinging closed, they stopped and turned, waving enthusiastically before turning again and climbing into the Thestral-pulled carriage that had been left waiting for them. Headmaster Dippet often did such things, especially in the cold winter months, trying to save his students from cold, wet walks through the snow. 

Minerva and Morgan stood and watched as the carriage disappeared around the turn, then clung together closely, Morgan apparating them away to Minerva’s flat. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to wrap up this visit in this chapter, but I’m anxious to go ahead and publish it, and there’s a bit more to cover, so I’m gonna go ahead and end it here. Hopefully I’ll get the next one done more quickly than I did this one. 
> 
> There is a very veiled reference to another fantasy epic hidden somewhere in the chapter. Kudos if you can find it. *winks*
> 
> “You are, at once, both the quiet and confusion of my heart.” I didn’t write that bit, sadly enough. It belongs to Franz Kafka. I found it on Tumblr and had to use it. I hope it didn’t feel too out of place.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> “Here, there be Dragons.” (Like, right now.)
> 
> AO3 Postings have now officially caught up with the ones from FFN, and so any future updates to FFN should be accompanied by an immediate update here. 
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

As soon as the crack of Apparition faded away, Minerva was furiously pulling Morgan’s cloak from her shoulders, throwing it mindlessly to the floor, stripping the warm gloves from her fingers and tossing them over her shoulder, not caring where any of it landed. Her already thin lips looked like the edge of a razor, and her eyes were almost black. Morgan wondered for a second if a kiss would cause her to bleed. 

“Min?” She nervously mumbled as the shirt was nearly ripped from her body, a couple of the delicate cloth-covered buttons falling prey to Minerva’s ruthlessness in disrobing the dazed witch in front of her. 

“No. No talking.” The shirt flew to the side, draping off the arm of the sofa, her skirt falling to pool at her feet, wand clunking to the floor as her waist sheath fell with the skirt. Seemingly unable to hold back any longer, Minerva’s Fir wand swung and pointed and Morgan’s underwear and stockings disappeared, leaving her naked and exposed in the cold flat, an involuntary shiver making its way up her spine. Another thunk sounded as Minerva’s wand hit the floor by their feet, no longer needed. 

Hands that were normally gentle were almost cruel in their treatment as they led Morgan in a series of slow turns, angry eyes scouring every inch of exposed flesh for splinching wounds. Another half turn brought them face to face again, and without preamble, Minerva’s mouth was cruelly plundering the hot depths of Morgan’s, cool hands pinching and twisting where they normally caressed and fondled. 

The rough treatment was shocking to Morgan, who had become accustomed to Minerva’s tentatively tender ministrations, but rather than scaring her, it was sending a rush of moisture to her core, flushing her chest and belly with blood and desire. Minerva reached up to release her hair from its bun, harshly grabbing a hunk and tugging to bring Morgan’s head back to look up into stormy black-green eyes. She growled out, “You will _not_ put yourself in danger like that again.” Her fingers tightened, pulling harder against her hair, her other hand gripping painfully to Morgan’s hip. “ _Never again._ ” 

Still not allowing the redhead to respond, she resumed her punishing kiss, fingernails scraping burning lines down the naked back underneath the hair she’d just freed, eliciting a hiss when she reached a firm buttock and continued on her path. 

During her treatment thus far, Morgan had remained still, shocked by the turn of events, but amazingly turned on by the harsh possessiveness. Her only movements had been in returning the bruising kiss, giving as good as she was getting, but suddenly, she sprang into action, pulling at Minerva’s clothes with the same ferocity with which hers had been removed earlier. Stymied for a second by Minerva’s unwillingness to let go long enough to allow her clothes to be taken off, Morgan grunted and with a burst of nonverbal wandless magic, all of the cloth left between them was banished to the other side of the room, the still-laced boots colliding loudly with the wall. The spell lacked her normal precision, but managed to do the job nonetheless, their shared passion providing all the power necessary. 

The surge of magic along with the sensation of Minerva’s fingers reaching from behind to brush through the growing moisture seeping out of her was enough to render her knees weak, and she fell, Minerva’s strong arms catching her, and setting her on the edge of the sofa. Their lips broke apart with the force of the fall, Minerva kneeling in front of her and nudging her knees apart. Her dark green eyes glinted, still angry as she repeated, “ _Never. Again._ ” 

Then there were no more words to say as her mouth descended, her sharp tongue finding a new purpose. Morgan collapsed back into the sofa, one hand flicking to release Minerva’s hair from its braid before burying itself deep in its silky smoothness, the other rising to her own mouth, biting onto her fist to keep from screaming as three long fingers plunged into her, bringing her perilously close to orgasm. 

None of her previous lovers had ever dared be so rough with her, and Morgan found that the lack of control was incredibly erotic. Several thrusts and one last hard lap with the flat of Minerva’s tongue was all it took to bring her over the edge, and even her fist wasn’t enough to stifle her screams then. 

Minerva raised herself on her knees and leaned forward, resting her head on Morgan’s stomach, wrapping both arms tightly around her lover, tears beginning to fall, dripping hotly on goose-pimpled skin. 

“Min?” Morgan’s voice was full of concern, her left hand combing through Minerva’s hair. 

The acid was gone from Minerva’s voice, replaced by sorrow. “What if you’d been splinched, Morgan?” 

Keeping her voice soft and low, Morgan explained, “I have medical supplies in my bag, Min, and I instructed him on what to use for a minor incident, and told him if it was too big to run like hell for Mairead and Healer Clarke. I had faith in his abilities, true, but I was prepared for any eventuality.” 

“What if it had been too bad? What if your supplies were inadequate? Splinching can be deadly!” The pitch of her voice was rising as panic began taking over again. 

“You wouldn’t have lost me, my dearest. I’m fine.” 

“There was no way to know that you would be fine. He could have killed you.” Hard sobs were wracking her body, and she clutched harder at Morgan, the tears falling harder and faster. “I can’t live without you.” The whispered words nearly broke Morgan’s heart into pieces. 

“Listen to me, darling,” her left hand continued sifting through Minerva’s hair, right arm draping across the top of her shoulders, squeezing them even more tightly together. “I did everything I could to ensure a successful trip, and you have my word that I will _never_ deliberately leave you. Not like that. Work may cause me to be gone sometimes, and it may be a long while before I can return to you, but I will never take unnecessary risks that could lead to my own,” she paused and swallowed heavily before continuing, “death. I’m looking forward to spending the next hundred and fifty years with you too much to allow such a thing to happen.” 

“Don’t be silly, Morgan. Nobody lives to a hundred and seventy-five.” She sniffled and her voice was muffled, but the panicked edge was beginning to wear off. 

“Let’s be the ones who do.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I couldn’t live without you, either, Min. For better or worse, you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry I scared you so much.” 

“I was so scared, Morgan. So scared. Just don’t do that to me again. I couldn’t take it.” Minerva picked her head up and looked at Morgan’s worried face. 

“Never, my darling. Never.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Once they recovered, the rest of the day passed with stilted conversation and awkward silences, culminating in Morgan heading for the guest bedroom for the first time since her first night back while Minerva was in the shower. 

She had just finished buttoning her pajama top, and was turning the blankets down when a cold voice from the doorway interrupted her. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

She shrugged. “Going to bed.” 

“Are we sleeping in here tonight? My bed is more comfortable.” 

“I didn’t know if you would want me in there tonight. Things have been a little… off since we got back.” The awkwardness between them had really bothered her all day. She’d tried to coax her Min out of this shell of Minerva several times, but each time, the gates slammed hard in her face. It had been exhausting and disheartening. 

“No. You said that when you’re here with me, that you will be with me in every way. That does not include sleeping in separate beds. Come, I’m tired.” She nodded toward her bedroom and turned, making her way to bed without waiting for Morgan to follow her, knowing she would. 

Or at the very least, hoping she would. 

Morgan deliberated briefly before padding stealthily behind the black-haired witch she so loved and crawled into bed with her, turning onto her side, facing outward. The commanding and imperious way Minerva was acting reminded her strongly of her future friend, and she was still having problems reconciling the two distinct people she knew as actually being the same person. 

She lay there, stiff and uncomfortable for only one long moment before a strong arm snaked around her waist, pulling her a couple inches backward before pressing a soft chest against her still-clothed back. She felt as Minerva gently rubbed her nose along her shoulder before pressing a gentle kiss to the curve where her shoulder became her upper arm. “It’s awfully presumptuous of you to come to bed still clothed, Morgan.” Minerva’s voice was lower than normal and husky. She sounded tired and completely unlike the cold person she’d been since they’d returned from Scotland. Another kiss found purchase a little further down her bicep, and despite the way they’d acted since returning to the flat, Morgan shuddered involuntarily, finding arousal wakening. “I thought we were rather beyond such notions when here in my home; in my bed.” 

In the silence, Minerva managed another couple of kisses along the cotton-clad arm, leading toward the sharp turn of Morgan’s elbow. Another shiver ran its course up her spine. She wanted to moan but she didn’t dare give Minerva encouragement until she’d been offered an apology for what had happened after their incident on the sofa. Then again, neither did she want to discourage her pleasurable actions. Instead, she lightly bit at her lip, willing herself to keep quiet and still. 

Minerva reversed her route, kissing her way slowly back up to Morgan’s shoulder and then down toward her neck. When she reached the fluttering pulse point and felt how fast it was beating, she closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier, _a rúnsearc_. I was out of line when I took you on the sofa, and I’ve been horrid to you all day since because I was ashamed at how I treated you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” 

“You don’t need to apologize for the sofa. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling. I was surprised at just how much it turned me on, but I did clearly enjoy myself, and I understand why you did it. Worry and fear will make people do things they normally would not. I only hated how you shut me out afterward.” She turned her head, looking Minerva in the eyes. “I love you, Min, and nothing you can do will change that. Nothing. Just … don’t shut me out in the future. That hurt more than I thought was possible.” 

“I will try, love, though I can’t make any guarantees. I’m not perfect, you know.” She angled her head to press another gentle kiss to the edge of Morgan’s jaw. 

“No, none of us are, but I think you’re just about as close as possible, and you’re the perfect person for me.” Their differences weren’t completely reconciled, but there was at least a large patch stuck over the damage. Morgan’s lips twisted in a half-grin before she turned her head back forward, a note of mirth in her voice. “I’m keeping the pajamas on though. Your hands and feet are like ice at night.” 

Cool fingers slipped beneath the waist of her cotton pajama bottoms, teasing at the neatly trimmed curls guarding Morgan’s hot wet depths. “I’ve icy hands, have I? I guess I’ll just have to warm them up somehow.” 

The only response she received was a hissing breath as her fingers pressed into the heat waiting beneath the curls. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

When they woke the next morning, Morgan was amused to note that the pajamas hadn’t made it through the night after all, finding them crumpled on the floor beside the bed. She kissed Minerva goodbye as she headed off to her Apprentice studies, and they quickly fell back into the habits formed the previous week. Morgan kept the house, entertained by the notion that her own flat was maintained by a house elf while she managed to do everything she needed when there in the past with Minerva. She did the daily shopping after determining what she wanted to prepare for their dinner, closely observing members of both populations as she dawdled about her day. 

Friday morning, Minerva woke up feeling morose, knowing that she had only a couple more days until Morgan had to leave and was determined to spend as many of their final moments together showing her woman just how loved she was. In that pursuit, she kept Morgan in their bed all day, preventing her daily shopping trip, therefore depriving them of fresh ingredients for their dinner. 

Ravenous and a bit tired from their exertions by that time, they decided to eat with Mairead and Rosie at the Three Broomsticks, and were stunned when their hostess announced that she was glad to see them so happy together. Mairead explained that in running a tavern and inn, she was exposed to things people didn’t want the general public to see, and she had long since accepted that everyone was different, and no less beautiful or loved for it. She intimated that it was more usual to see two men show up for discreet rendezvous than two women, but that she’d seen both in her time, and even a very few where there were more than two people involved. 

As the three women talked, Rosie made her way back and forth, sitting on Morgan’s lap for a while before moving to Minerva’s or her mother’s, loved and played with no matter which woman was holding her. Over their after-dinner coffee, Mairead assured both Morgan and Minerva that she’d never broken anyone’s confidences, and wouldn’t start with them. She thought of them as friends, more than just regular customers, and even if they had just been another couple meeting for a quiet drink and room, she wouldn’t compromise their integrity by spreading gossip. 

Still a bit shaken by the revelations the innkeeper had made, they each kissed a quickly tiring Rosie, and made their excuses before leaving for home. As was their nightly routine, bodies were worshipped and loved, both witches bolstered by the knowledge that they had at least one ally in what would certainly be a lifelong battle to be allowed to love each other. 

Sunday morning dawned bright and cold, ushering December in with a flourish of ice and snow, the sun making its appearance despite the wintry precipitation that was falling. 

Neither Minerva nor Morgan wanted to leave the warmth of their bed, and both were tearing up at the prospect of Morgan’s leaving. Morgan made slow, sensuous love to Minerva that morning, her body making the promises her words already had, ensuring that her love and devotion were written on every inch of her lover’s skin. After Minerva had shuddered her way through a final release, Morgan leaned up for a salty kiss, flavored thus by both of their tears. 

“Stay here so I remember you flushed and well-loved, Min, and not crying miserably as I leave. I’ll return to you as soon as I can.” Morgan whispered into Minerva’s ear before pressing a final kiss to her cheek and leaving the bed. Her belongings were packed quickly with magic, everything that had to go with her stuffed unceremoniously into the beaded bag before the bag was shoved into her pocket. 

Eyes full of tears, she whispered, “ _Arj_ ” into the air and disappeared from December 1946; reappearing seconds after she’d left back in January of 2005. She was glad that she’d left so soon after her last visit with modern Minerva, because if she’d had to see her too quickly, Hermione thought she’d spill every detail and beg for the older version of her lover to take her to bed the way she was used to doing in the past. 

She trudged into her study and looked back over the list Minerva had given her of all the times she’d been there as Morgan, and lamented the growing gaps she saw, knowing those would be painful times for Min to go through. She pondered curiously over the list for several long minutes, wondering why the gaps grew so large before the realization hit her: aging. For every trip she took into the past, her body would continue to age, which would cause a noticeable effect on her present self. Meanwhile, Morgan wouldn’t be aging at the same rate as Minerva, and that wouldn’t go unnoticed either. 

She sat down and drew out a fresh sheet of parchment, writing down “four weeks” at the top, beginning the process of keeping track how much older she’d be once she finished all her trips to the past. She wasn’t sure precisely how long each visit would last, but if she kept to two weeks apiece, it would result in roughly an extra nine months of aging. Fairly insignificant, overall, especially taking Wizarding aging into effect. 

It was sobering, however, in the implications. If these rough calculations were correct, all they would have together over the course of sixty years was nine months. It was long enough to build a human life from scratch, and would therefore have to be long enough to build a strong and loving life with Minerva, she decided. 

Still thinking hard, she rolled the parchment up and stuck it into the desk’s secret compartment which held all the evidence of her other life along with the list of visits. 

Her tears at having to leave Min had slowed as she sat and calculated the possible additions to her physical age, and she made her way into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. Looking at “Morgan’s” face in the mirror, she faced herself with the other problem she’d identified in her study. Thus far, she’d cast the modifications to her looks with glamours based on her own current age of twenty-four, but the longer she stayed in the past with Min, Morgan would need to age at a similar rate to Min. 

She decided to research the glamour charms she was using to see if they could be used in a way that would modify not only her base features, but also to show an accelerated age. That settled until she could speak with Mistress O’Neill and find a way to do what she needed, she cancelled her glamours and gazed at the chestnut tresses and normal features that comprised Hermione Granger instead of Morgan Stewart. She could see the appeal of Morgan, but decided that all in all, she preferred herself as just that: herself. She only hoped that after all the visits had been made and Minerva was told the truth, she would feel the same. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

It took a couple days of her normal work routine before she truly felt like herself again, and she was enjoying the simple freedoms of not having to lie or fabricate a past for Morgan from bits and pieces of her own. She found herself wondering what ever happened to Minerva’s family, but was too scared to delve too deeply into what would be her future. She already knew far too much as it stood. 

Thursday evening after she got off work, she was wandering Diagon Alley, observing the differences in the way people carried themselves in her own time compared to the way they did back in the forties. The men weren’t much different, but the women in her own time seemed to have a bit more confidence than their grandmothers had, at least from what she could tell in idle people-watching. 

She stopped at a coffee stand, conjuring a real mug to avoid the paper cups that were on offer, continuing on her ambulatory pursuits with hands wrapped gratefully around the hot cup. Just as she took the last sip, she was getting ready to vanish the mug when she was bumped from behind and it tumbled out of her hand, shattering on the cobblestones. 

“I’m so sorry! I’m just a clumsy git, really.” A familiar voice came from the person who had bumped into her. 

She sighed, vanished the broken remains of the cup, and replied, “It’s okay, Ron. I was about to vanish the cup anyway.” She turned to face him, watching as his neck started turning red. He dropped his head, studiously watching his shuffling feet while one arm reached up to scratch at the back of his head nervously. 

“Hermione. I… Um, can we talk?” 

She sighed again, knowing this conversation needed to happen. “Yeah, we need to. My flat or the CM?” 

“Harry’s home for the day, so I guess your flat, but you’ll have to take me Side-Along. I’ve never been there.” 

“Very well.” He offered his arm, bent at the elbow, and she smiled softly at the gentlemanly behavior before grabbing on. “Ready?” He nodded and she disapparated them from Diagon Alley, apparating into her flat seconds later. She released his arm and went to hang her cloak from the round hat stand she’d purchased soon after moving in, indicating that he should do the same as she went into the kitchen. “Drink?” 

“Just water, thanks, or tea if you’re making it.” He had hung his cloak up and was settling his lanky frame into one of the wing-back chairs flanking her fireplace. 

She pulled two water glasses from the cabinet and filled them with a quick _Aguamenti_. She carried them with her, handing one over as she took a seat in the other chair. She was nervous about the conversation that was coming, and sat waiting for him to start. 

He took a gulp of water from the glass before leaning forward to place it on the low coffee table, resting his elbows on his knees afterward. “I know this is going to be awkward, but seeing you has made me aware that things can’t go on the way they have been. I’ve been a real jerk since last June, and I know that. It’s not an easy thing to be told no when you ask a question like that, but I’ve had several months now to realize that I should never have asked. I did it for the wrong reasons. I do love you, but we’ve both known for a long time that we weren’t _in_ love. I just got so wrapped up in everyone else getting engaged and lost sight of things. I’m so sorry, ‘Mione. Truly.” 

“I’m sorry, too, Ron. The arrangement we had should never have been. I was using you because you were,” she looked upward and threw her arms up, “there. And available. Which were horrible reasons. I think the first time I came to you, it was because my parents had just rejected me for being a Witch, and I needed to feel wanted and loved, but it shouldn’t have happened again after that. I took advantage of you, and I apologize.” 

“It sounds, honestly, like we were both in it for the wrong reasons then. I only hate we’ve lost out on seven months of friendship because I was, once again, a giant prat.” 

They both grinned at the self-deprecating comment. “So what’s been going on with you? Cannons winning?” 

“Of course not.” He relaxed back into his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other. “Merlin knows I’ve loved this team my whole life, but from an insider’s position, I’m starting to see the truth behind what everyone else has been saying for, oh, the last hundred years.” 

“I’m sorry. I know how much you adore the orange and black.” 

“It’s alright. I’ve actually been approached by another team, but we’re taking negotiations slowly. Their recruiter said they’ve recently come under new ownership, and the new owner, whoever he or she is, is impressed with the way I’ve been playing. Our chasers are so miserable that we’re not scoring at all, but I’ve been doing well enough to keep our opponents from making any points, either, so it’s been coming down to the Seekers to win or lose our matches. Of course, our Seeker’s shit, too, so we’re losing hand over fist. Too bad I don’t have Harry around.” 

She smiled. “Yes, that’s too bad. I think he’s really enjoying the relative anonymity of being an Auror though.” 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been lately. Luna’s carefree crazy seems to really allow him to let go of everything and just be Harry.” He paused thoughtfully. “Does it bother you? Him and Luna, I mean. I know how important she was to you that year after the war.” 

“No, I’m really thrilled for them. Luna and I were,” she paused and twisted her lips to one side thoughtfully, “brilliant and fun, while it lasted, but it was never meant to be. I was surprised when I found out they were dating, because I thought she only liked girls, but it’s like you said, they make each other happy, and that’s all that matters.” 

“So, how about you? I mean, we’ve established that although the Cannons are as bad as they ever were – and thank you for the bit of Quidditch conversation, by the way. I remember how much you hate the sport and our unending sports chatter.” She flashed a bright smile at him. “Anyway, so they’re horrible, but I may be on the rise if this deal with the Pride of Portree goes through. How are your studies going? Work? Fill me in on everything I’ve missed out on.” 

“I completed my Masteries last month. Both of them. All that’s left now is the job with Magical Creatures. Now that I’m not as pressed for time as I was while pursuing my education as well as the job, it’s time to move forward on Werewolf rights legislation. It took me too long to get everything done for the House Elves, but it’s been seven months now since that passed. I had to take six of those months to concentrate on my final projects, but now it’s time to begin my research and accomplish the rest of what I wanted to do in the Ministry.” 

“Congratulations, Mistress Granger.” He tilted his head forward as though completing a formal bow. “I’m really proud of you. I know a few people with single Mastery status, but I don’t think I know anyone with two. Wow.” 

“Thanks, Ron. I haven’t told many people yet.” As she thought about it, she realized that she hadn’t told anyone at all, other than her boss and Minerva, who had told Professor Flitwick, and now Ron. She needed to fix that. “Listen, don’t say anything to anybody. I’ve just realized I haven’t told anyone at all apart from Minerva.” 

“Alright. I won’t say anything, but blimey, Hermione, shouldn’t you tell people? It’s a really big deal!” 

“I will. I just … I’ve been wrapped up in a personal project and completely forgot.” She ran a hand through her hair several times agitatedly. _How could I be so careless and forget to even tell **Harry**? Stupid!_  

“What was this personal project? Sounds like the way you used to get worked up around exam time.” He reached for his water glass and took another long swallow. 

“Ehhhh, it was follow up research on my final project.” It wasn’t a lie, nor was it necessarily the truth, either. 

“Alright, alright. I won’t press. Just let me know when I can be the proud friend in the open, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Promise.” 

They spent another hour just sitting and chatting before Ron had to leave. She kissed him on the cheek and saw him out before slipping her cloak back on and heading down the street to the Muggle market to get some provisions. The time she’d spent cooking for herself and Minerva in the past had given her a new appreciation for the culinary arts, and she wanted to show her new skills off. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Over the next week, she sent owls to her friends, inviting them over for a large dinner on Friday. She received acceptance owls from Harry and Luna, Neville and Ginny, and Ron. She had also invited Fred and George and Bill and Fleur, but Fleur replied to say they couldn’t find a babysitter and sent their regrets. Fred had a date with Angelina Johnson, but George said he would come. She wanted to send an invitation to Minerva, but she wasn’t sure she’d had enough time to be able to control herself yet, and she already knew the breaking news anyway. 

She made sure to stock up on wine that would pair well with her meal, and made sure to have a couple bottles of harder liquor on hand also, just in case someone wanted something different. 

She dressed carefully, arranging her hair into the perfect French twist. Her dress was the perfect “little black dress” with an inner layer of dark charcoal silk and an overlay of blackest lace. She accessorized perfectly with a thin white belt at the waist, onyx and silver drop earrings and a matching necklace and bracelet, black silk stockings, and set it all off with shiny white leather three-inch heels. 

George was the first to arrive, and when he saw her, he issued a low-key wolf whistle. “You look stunning, Hermione. Fred’s gonna be disappointed he missed out on seeing you like this.” 

She laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before closing the door behind him. “Thank you, George. Too bad neither of you are my type, eh?” 

He put his hand over his heart, making an exaggerated crestfallen face, waving the other hand about. “Oh, you’ve wounded me to the quick! You mean you don’t go for tall, dark, and Weasley?” 

She laughed again at his antics. “Nope. Alas there are too many of you Weasleys, and all of you are,” she paused and leaned in to whisper directly into his good ear, “regrettably male.” Stepping back and winking, she left a stunned redhead behind her, his mouth gaping open as she went to check on dinner. 

“Blimey, Hermione. Don’t bother to pull your punches, do you?” He took a few steps and sank into one of the chairs in front of the crackling fireplace. 

“Never, Georgie. Never.” Her laughter trickled out of the kitchen. 

“Is that the big revelation behind tonight’s party?” His mind was still whirring around the idea. 

“No, you’re the only one coming tonight who didn’t know. Feel free to tell Fred if you want – not that I could really stop you anyway – but it’s not information for the general public. At least not yet. I suppose I’ll have to go public at some point, but hopefully not until I want to. Or at least when I can control the information outbreak.” She closed the oven, confident that everything would be ready just on time. “Drink?” 

“I think I need one, yeah. You have any Old Ogden’s?” 

“Yep. Ice?” 

“Neat, please.” 

“Coming up!” She poured each of them a drink; the whiskey for George, and a glass of wine for herself, then carried them into the living room. “Here,” she handed the drink to him, taking a sip of her wine. He savored the first swallow, feeling the familiar burn and humming lightly in appreciation. 

“Thanks. I needed that.” 

“Of course. Is this going to be a problem, George?” Her eyes darkened just a shade and worry was plainly washing over her face as she sat in another of the chairs, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning forward to rest her crossed arms on her knee, the wine glass cupped delicately in her fingers, the dark liquid swirling around the glass. 

“No!” He realized the impression his reaction was giving and tried to relax. “No, Hermione. Absolutely not. It’s not that. I just think Mum’s been hung up on the idea of you and Ron for years, and on being a mother to you, especially after what happened with your parents down in Australia.” Another mouthful burned its way down his throat. “I don’t see where any of us would have problems with that. It’s not as uncommon as you’d think, given the ‘public’ opinion. I think the Wizarding world has just always seen it as something that’s between the people involved and not the business of anyone else. That doesn’t mean the Prophet won’t have a heyday with it, especially given who you are, but I don’t think the backlash is going to be as bad as you’re obviously expecting it to be.” 

“I do worry about what people think, but mostly only about those who matter. You and your family, for instance, matter a great deal to me, and I hope Molly will understand that she will always be my second mother, even if I don’t marry one of her sons. I have a few close friends whose opinions will always matter, but the people who are closest to me have known for years.” 

“Years?” He took a final swallow from his glass. 

“I had a relationship with a woman during my remedial year at Hogwarts after the war. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Neville found out around Christmas that year. The relationship ended before the school year was over, and I’ve not had another serious partner since, though I haven’t been a nun by any means. Now, though,” she raised her glass and took another delicate sip of the heady wine, “now I think I might have found the one, Georgie. But there’s a lot to work through, and it may be several more years before anything comes of it, if it ever does. There’s just too many variables. And this is something you’re the first to know, so I’d appreciate if you could keep it to yourself. And Fred, of course. I know you two can keep a secret better than anyone… just not from each other.” 

He laughed lightly. “You’re right there, Hermione. I’m honored that you chose to confide in me. On my honor as a Weasley Twin and as a modern Marauder, I will not break your confidence.” 

“Thanks.” She winked at him before adding, a devilish gleam in her eye, “And who knows? If this doesn’t pan out, it may just be that I come looking for that tall, dark, and Weasley you were offering earlier.” 

He groaned. “That’s dirty pool, Hermione. Dirty pool.” 

“I never claimed to play fair, Georgie.” 

“Which is why I love you so much, darling Hermione.” 

Their banter was ended by a knock on the door, heralding the arrival of everyone else all at once. The dinner went amazingly well, everyone congratulating her on her dual Mastery status and enjoying the food and wine she put together for them. After George and Ron left together at midnight, she sat down and wrote a short letter to Fleur, letting her and Bill know the news. She and Fleur weren’t especially close friends, but the time the French witch had spent taking care of Hermione following her experience with Bellatrix had forged a bond between them, and they were periodic pen-pals, sharing a meal together once in a while to catch up. 

Fleur stayed busy, her two children the absolute light of her life, but maintaining a career as well, brewing potions in her basement for a mail-order company. As Hermione had been told several times, “I refuse to leave mes petites poulettes in anyone’s care but my own.” The mail-order job allowed her to do stay home with her children while still helping to provide for them, which was the perfect solution for her. Bill was rising through the ranks of human employees of Gringotts, and they did well. They still lived at Shell Cottage, but had tastefully expanded it over the years to allow for their growing family. 

Monday morning, when she received Fleur’s reply, she was happy to hear that the Weasley clan would be growing by another member in roughly six months. Fleur was hopeful that she would finally have a boy, and congratulated Hermione on her accomplishments, adding that hopefully with her education behind her, she could finally go after the life she wanted without being tied down by her three masters. 

Hermione smiled at that, knowing that Fleur meant well, but as much as she loved babies and children, she didn’t see them in her future. The reference to her masters reminded her of the issue she needed to resolve with aging her glamours, however, and before she left for the Ministry, she sent a short note to Samantha requesting a meeting at the older woman’s convenience. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Three days later, Hermione met with her former Charms Mistress over lunch. When the subject of glamour charms and aging came up, Samantha’s blue eyes pierced through her in a manner so reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore that she felt herself turning into a shade of her teenage self, gaze turning down to the table, unable to keep up eye contact. 

“What are you doing, Hermione? First there was your final project that could allow you to go back what – a hundred and fifty years – before the drain on your magic would be catastrophic. And now you ask me about the ways glamours can be modified to show false aging? What are you doing and who are you visiting in the past?” 

Hermione gulped. She should have found another expert on Charms who didn’t know about her Time Crystal and how it worked, but it was too late to worry about that. “Sam, I can’t tell you. I had proof before I made my first journey that they had been made, although it wasn’t at all clear yet until I got there exactly what was happening. My intentions were and are pure; happiness for a very unhappy friend, though with no far-reaching costs to the present and future of either of us. I’m not going back to save anyone who died, I’m not going back to kill anyone who lived, and I wouldn’t risk the peace of a world without Voldemort to try and change anything. But there will be further trips, and I will need to blend in by aging at an appropriate rate while under my glamours. Is it possible? I need to know.” 

The blonde witch sat for a moment, absorbing Hermione’s heart-felt words. “Do you love her? This person for whom you are reordering time, I mean.” She lifted a hand, stopping Hermione from asking about the feminine pronoun. “I am in no way stupid, Hermione. Now, answer the question. Do you love her?” 

Again Hermione swallowed hard, a tear beginning to materialize at the corner of her eye. “Yes.” 

“Then yes. The glamours can be modified to include artificial aging. You only need to know the target birth year and think about it – with intention – while casting the charms.” She reached a hand across the table to rest on top of Hermione’s hand where it lay next to her abandoned plate. “I hope things turn out the way you want, Hermione, but I have to let you know that I have my doubts. Even in the pursuit of ‘happiness for an unhappy friend,’ it’s still a big deceit to insert yourself into someone’s past and hide your identity. What’s going to happen when the past catches up to the present and she finds out who you really are?” 

The tear slid down Hermione’s cheek, followed in quick succession by several others, glinting brightly in the sunshine pouring through the café’s large windows. “I don’t know, Sam, but evidence suggests that I do continue these visits, and so I must. I’ll just have to deal with her reaction and the backlash afterward. Hopefully I end up with the desired result of both of us happy, but if not, then I will have failed in my most important mission. I think that, at least for now, I must live on hope, however.” 

“I’ll add my hope to yours then, sweetheart. I know my life would be so very different if I’d never met and married my Jack, and I can only wish for everyone to have the happiness and love that we do.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand comfortingly. 

They finished their lunch and hugged their farewells, Hermione clinging tightly to the taller woman, thanking her for her help before they parted. 

Once she’d finished her work day, she returned to her lonely flat, opting to order out rather than cook her own dinner. While she waited for the food to be delivered, she stripped down to nothing and stepped into the bathroom, standing in front of the full-length mirror on the wall. Her Walnut wand had been set aside for this, opting to use the Apple wand instead. Thinking “1921” hard, she closed her eyes and cast the familiar sequence of glamours, feeling her skin and hair rippling as the changes were wrought. She stood with her eyes closed for a moment, thinking about what her eighty-three year old body might look like. 

Rationally, she knew she wouldn’t appear to be more than fifty in terms of Muggle aging, but eighty-three was a daunting number to aspire to when she was actually only twenty-five. 

Steeling her spine and breathing in, she opened her eyes and took in her new appearance. 

Her two-toned hair held only a few changes; the red almost as dark as it was when Morgan twenty-five, but the blonde streaks had faded in intensity, beginning to show the slightest signs of grey. Her face held a few frown and laughter wrinkles, but not many. Her normally pert breasts hung just a little lower and fuller, the scar on her ribs faded to nearly nothing at all. She was still slim, but her belly, thighs, and upper arms were a little flabbier, and the muscle definition in those areas was all but gone. She frowned at that thought, wondering if she adopted a more active lifestyle, if it would affect these glamours and her future body in a more positive manner. 

It was worth a try. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Friday morning saw Hermione in a sporting-goods store, perusing their stock in supplies for the serious runner. She picked out three pair of tight running shorts, matching racer-back sports bras, and a new pair of running shoes. At the counter, she was speaking with the sales clerk, and he recommended that if she wanted to add a little strength training to her running regimen, she might consider a set of strap-on weights for her arms and ankles. Agreeing that it could only help, she added a set to the stack of clothing and paid for it all. 

She hadn’t had much time to get to know the neighborhood surrounding her flat between the grueling schedule she’d kept for the first several months she’d been there and the other business she’d been dealing with since completing her Masteries in December. She knew the takeaway shops, and she’d been to a couple of the markets, though she found herself missing the little neighborhood shops she’d frequented around Minerva’s flat. She took her time, though, on Friday evening, and mapped out what appeared to be a safe running route, making discreet marks for distance periodically. 

After that was done, she was consumed by curiosity and apparated over to where Minerva’s flat had been in the past. She was sad to see all the familiar little businesses gone, replaced by a hair salon and a mobile phone shop, two of the old shops combined to form a modern supermarket. The little shop on the corner which had once housed the delightful bakery where she’d purchased fresh baguettes every couple of days was now a quiet coffee shop. 

Hermione stepped into the warmth of the corner shop and ordered a plain coffee. As the barista prepared her hot beverage, Hermione looked around, surprised to see a variety of sweets and pastries presented in a glass case. The cheesecake, in particular, looked delectable, but she resisted the impulse to buy a slice, accepting the large cup of coffee from the smiling woman behind the counter, the spoon rattling against the saucer as she crossed over to an empty table in the corner where she settled wearily into the plush seat facing the wall. 

She ripped open one of the paper packets of sugar and poured its contents into the coffee, stirring briefly before setting the spoon back onto the saucer, lifting the steaming cup to her lips, savoring the first sip with her eyes closed. Overall, she was far fonder of tea, but there were times when she craved coffee in its place. 

Relaxing into her seat, she started thinking about Minerva and Min, the two disparate parts of the woman she loved. On one hand, she had younger Min; easy to make smile and laugh, eager to please and be pleased, completely open with her alter-ego about her feelings, and so easy to read with her blushes and looks, and gods, Hermione nearly moaned, so passionate. She was also desperate to keep their relationship a secret from everyone, which was understandable given the world’s attitude in her time. 

Then on the other hand, there was older Minerva, the celebrated and honored Headmistress of Hogwarts. She hadn’t yet experienced this Minerva as Morgan, but through their own friendship of Professor and former Student, she knew that her smiles were hard-won and rare. She was intensely private, and very difficult to read, even to those who knew her as well as Hermione did. She carried around a lot of pain and hurt, and knowing that she would be the cause of so much of that pain caused a knife to twist itself hotly in her heart. 

There was so much to come, and so much that Hermione didn’t know about their future – both in what Minerva had already experienced and also in what was yet to come after all her trips had been made. She was worried about how Minerva would react when she found out that their entire life together had been predicated on a finely-woven web of lies, recalling her conversation with Samantha. She didn’t know if Minerva could ever feel for Hermione what she felt for Morgan. What if, after it was all said and done, Minerva kicked her out of her life because all she could ever see in Hermione was a former student; an annoying know-it-all swot who had once had buck-teeth and an incurable need to prove that she deserved her place in the magical world into which she’d been thrust? 

She needed to find a way to get Minerva to see past all that and begin to see her as an attractive woman and not the schoolgirl she’d once been. Then perhaps, just maybe, when everything came to light, it wouldn’t be as far a stretch for Minerva to love Hermione as much as she’d ever loved her as Morgan. 

Hermione was completely wrapped up in her thoughts, and when a hand lightly touched her shoulder, she reacted with a squeak, involuntarily jumping. Her knee bumped at the underside of the table, sloshing cooling coffee over the rim of the cup, thankfully contained by the saucer beneath it. 

A low chuckle came from behind her, and she turned her head to the right, eyes meeting a slim waist covered by a long burgundy oxford shirt, and raising upward to the smiling face of the object of her thoughts. _Speak of the devil,_ she thought, grinning at the memory of being called a devil-woman. “Minerva,” she breathed out the older woman’s name, taking in her appearance with a quick glance. 

Her dark hair was arranged in the way Hermione preferred to see it on Min, the top and sides pulled back into a thin braid, the rest left loose, falling over her back to the waist in an ebony waterfall. Hermione’s fingers were itching to bury themselves in the silky smoothness of those locks, knowing it would feel exquisite. Her face was dominated by one of those rare smiles, green eyes twinkling as she laughed at Hermione’s reaction to her touch. Her shirt was left open at the top, two buttons down, and was covered by a thick woolen overcoat that Hermione suspected had been transfigured from one of her cloaks. 

“Hermione,” Minerva nodded her head just slightly, pulling her hand back and stepping forward, turning to sink into the chair opposite Hermione’s, setting a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. “What brings you here, dear?” 

Hermione finally regained a bit of sense and was able to rein in her coursing desire to slide her fingers into Minerva’s luxurious hair by choosing, of all things, to sit on her hands. “I could ask you the same, Minerva. A Muggle coffee shop’s hardly the first place I would find myself looking for you, especially on a school day.” 

Twin spots of color rose to Minerva’s prominently high cheekbones, and she took a sip of her coffee before answering, “After I left school, I lived in this neighborhood for a while. I occasionally come back to reminisce. This is where I was living when I met Morgan.” 

Hermione felt a jolt of happiness when she saw the blush creep up on Minerva, glad she was able to elicit such a response as herself and not just as Morgan, but it quickly faded when she heard Minerva’s next words. 

“I just… I find myself missing her sometimes, Hermione. On the days when I just can’t stand it anymore, I often find myself here, my hair done in the way she liked it best, dressed in one of the shirts she gifted me, losing myself for a while in thoughts and memories of her.” Her green eyes were filled with a deep sadness as she stared down at her coffee cup, fingers of one hand playing idly with the provided spoon, the other hand resting on the table. 

There opened, in Hermione’s heart, a large crack as it began to break at seeing firsthand the pain her actions were causing the woman she loved, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching a hand over to rest comfortingly on top of Minerva’s still one. “I’m so sorry, Minerva.” 

When Hermione’s hand closed over hers, Minerva’s eyes slid closed, and she could almost imagine that the gentle touch was Morgan’s. It was that warm and comforting, with the slight buzzing undercurrent of desire that Morgan had always evoked. It was confusing her, the same way that their Christmas kiss underneath the charmed mistletoe had done, and the gentle kiss Hermione had pressed to her cheek at the New Year had only added to it. 

Knowing that she should, she didn’t end the touch, reveling in the innocent contact, and wondering why, after all the years of her life, Hermione Granger was the second to cause such feelings to bubble up from within her. There was guilt present, because, as she’d told Filius when he confronted her about her behavior following that kiss, she did not condone infidelity in any form for any reason. Emotionally, she was a mess. She still loved Morgan with everything she was, but it had been _so long_ since she’d seen her red-haired lover. _Eight years._ She didn’t even know if the other woman was still alive. 

Opening her eyes, she quietly said, “It’s okay, Hermione. I’ll be quite alright in time. How are things going with your search efforts?” 

Hermione sighed, hating that even now, she was still lying to Minerva. “Honestly, not that well. It may well take a few more years for things to come together, Minerva, if they ever do. I’m sorry. I’m doing my best, however, and have every hope that my efforts will eventually pay off. It may just take some time.” She unconsciously squeezed Minerva’s hand where they still rested together on the table. 

“I understand. I trust that if she can be found, you will do it. You,” she breathed in sharply, “have never failed at any task to which you’ve set yourself. If she truly cannot be found, Hermione, then I will have no choice but to believe that she did not survive the war.” 

Hermione wanted so badly to tell Minerva that she was right there in front of her, but she feared what would happen if she revealed herself before all her trips had been made. There were so many potential ramifications that it made her head spin. 

Both women sat there in silence for a moment, Hermione’s fingers gently rubbing nonsensical patterns onto the back of Minerva’s hand. Neither trusted themselves to speak without crying, so they said nothing. Finally overwhelmed by the silence, Hermione stood, Minerva missing the warmth of her comforting hand immediately. “It was wonderful to see you, Minerva, and I’m sure that I’ll be able to find your Morgan and return her to you eventually. For now, however, I have something I need to go do.” Without thinking, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Minerva’s head, breathing in the familiar scent, before giving words to her goodbye and sweeping out of the coffee shop. 

Minerva was left alone, feeling sadness, confusion, and tendrils of desire twisting their way through her mind. She didn’t know what was going on between her and Hermione, but in her absence, she felt oddly emptier than she had before running into her young friend. 

What in the world was happening? 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miracle upon miracles, I managed to get this update out on time this week! You’ve all been dying to find out what’s going on back in the future, so hopefully this helps slake your needs. 
> 
> I had so much trouble with that opening scene, but the more I’ve read back through it (and believe me I read through it several times, editing and revising each time) the more satisfied I am that as out of character as it initially seems, I really like it and think it fits the situation. You all know how uncomfortable I can be with writing le smut, so don’t think too badly of me for it.
> 
> For those of you who aren’t following my Twitter, you missed the announcement that I’ve added a new page to the Resources website, keeping track of the dates and duration of each of Hermione’s trips to the past as Morgan. This page will help both you and I keep track, not only of the future dates from which she leaves and later to which she returns, but also of the dates she arrives and leaves in the past, and the number of days spent in the past, all adding up to her final additional age. That link is on my Author profile, but again, if you prefer a spelled-out non-link, it’s: hollibee dot com slash fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thank you to those who have left kudos, both signed and unsigned.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> Some of you guys ask really good questions in your reviews, and it pains me to not be able to answer them for fear of ruining what’s coming, but as the indomitable River Song says, “Spoilers!” (Mm, Alex Kingston on Doctor Who might have ruined my life, but damn if I didn’t go down happy.) 
> 
> It seems to really bother some of you when I refer to the sex scenes as le smut, and I apologize. It’s just not something I’ll ever be comfortable talking about (ask my exes), and writing it is so much worse, and so I deflect and turn to humor and/or sarcasm, the way I do with pretty much everything ever in my life. Would you rather I call it pr0n? (I may be in my thirties, but just being real, I’m mostly just an immature preteen.)
> 
> It has come to my attention that some of the Gaelic I use is of Irish origin rather than Scottish. I can’t say I was completely unaware of this, but most of the Gaelic websites out there list the Irish phrases and words, even when I have searched specifically for Scottish Gaelic. If I have used something incorrectly, or if there is a difference in the way the Scots would say it, I welcome the chance to go back and make edits, because I want all my details to be as correct as possible, but I can only do that if you guys will help me out by providing a more accurate translation. 
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Saturday night, Minerva found herself tossing and turning in bed, plagued by memories and thoughts of Hermione. What had she been thinking? Allowing such a prolonged contact between their hands had been a mistake. She could feel the little patterns Hermione had traced on the back of her hand with her fingers two days later, and it was driving her mad. 

Hermione had been her closest confidante since the end of the last war, and she’d often found herself missing the younger woman during the month in between their meetings, but it had always been in the spirit of their close friendship rather than in the pursuit of anything other than platonic love. 

She groaned into her pillow remembering a flash of flushed and sweaty skin the night she’d had to let Hermione back into the castle after she’d been out running. She flipped over onto her back, pressing a pillow to her face as she remembered Hermione nuzzling into her hand, softly whispering her name as she’d lain unconscious after apparating back from Australia. So much of the following week had been spent with the younger witch crying in Minerva’s arms, but that one moment was what clung so firmly to her memory. 

The heat of her breath reflected back from the pillow reminded her of the day they’d walked up the path and along the bank of the lake last summer. It had felt so nice walking arm in arm in the warmth of the sun, and finally being able to open up to Hermione about Morgan and her most deeply held secret – her sexuality – had been the most liberating thing she’d done, probably since giving in and allowing herself to love Morgan all those years ago. They’d already been very close friends, but after that day, there had been a new depth to their relationship. It had felt wonderful not having to guard every little mention of Morgan. 

Then … then came Christmas and that damned Mistletoe. She flipped to lie on her stomach, punching the pillow in frustration. After the mistletoe incident, all thoughts of platonic love and friendship had begun to unravel. The kisses they shared made her so terribly uncomfortable because they felt like safety and home and worst of all, they’d felt like _Morgan_. Minerva couldn’t begin to understand it. The attraction between her and Hermione was almost undeniable, and given half a chance, she might choose to pursue it, but the fact remained that even if Morgan had been gone for eight years – and was it another eight before that short visit? – Minerva still loved her and was still in a romantic relationship with her. They’d been lovers and partners for sixty years! She turned to her left side, clutching one pillow tightly to her chest, curling around it in the fetal position as tears flowed down her face into the mattress. 

It would be an incredible betrayal of everything they’d ever shared if she were to give in to this attraction – into these feelings – and try to be anything but friends with Hermione, but gods, if she only had the chance, she had an intuition that it could be every bit as beautiful and lasting as anything she and Morgan had ever shared. 

As true as it all was, however, it could never be. She did still love Morgan. She still wanted Morgan, desperately. She craved her lover’s touch, her presence, the never-ending warmth of her body. She missed their conversations, the biting intellect and sarcasm of which they’d both been masters. She longed to smell the strange combination of herbs and lemons that had wrapped their fragrances around Morgan’s body. 

She could not, would not cheat, no matter what Hermione could offer her in Morgan’s absence. The only way she could ever take a chance on the younger woman would be if she found out that Morgan hadn’t survived the war and was no longer alive, and that would rip Minerva’s very soul into shreds that she didn’t think even Hermione could repair. It was impossible. Utterly and completely impossible. 

As she’d done several times over the long years without Morgan, Minerva reached blindly for her wand, unable to see through her tears, and began the process of transfiguring and charming her pillow. She might not have Morgan there, but maybe the poor substitute would be enough to bring her a little comfort and allow the oblivion of sleep. Curling into the transfigured pillow’s side, she tried to relax herself enough to drift away, but a fresh wash of tears sprang from her eyes at the thought that this might be the only way she would ever have Morgan again. 

She lay there, sobbing into the pillow’s ‘chest’ until she finally wore herself out, falling into a fitful sleep, dreaming of Morgan and Hermione and a strange merged copy of both women as one. This dreaming idea of them being the same person finally smoothed her sleep, allowing her to truly rest for the first time in a long while. She awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, having no memory of the dream which had so calmed her. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Monday, Hermione woke with the dawn and dressed in her new running gear, magically lengthening the shorts to mid-calf in deference to the early morning temperatures, and adding a hooded sweatshirt over the sports bra. She decided to start with a moderately paced one mile run, and planned to gradually increase her distance as she became more used to the exertion. She slipped her wand into a wrist sheath, carefully hidden under the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and set out. 

It was cold, her breath fogging in front of her, but the exercise kept her blood pumping, and she didn’t feel it as sharply as she would if she’d just been out for a slow stroll. After her first mile, she was still in pretty good shape, and thought she might extend her run by another half mile, but thought better of it, not wanting to push things too hard too quickly. 

After a long shower, she dressed for work and grabbed a quick breakfast before heading out to the Ministry. She settled into the comfortable chair in her office and started sorting through the mail and inter-departmental memoranda that had been waiting for her since she left on Thursday evening. Her office was an upgrade from the cubicle she’d had before the House-Elf Rights bill had passed the previous June. It was still relatively small, though it did have the benefit of privacy and a real door. 

As she answered her mail, she sent return memos and replies flying through a strategically placed hole near the top of the door. She was nearly finished when the door opened and her boss, Xerophan Catalpa stepped through. She flicked her eyes upward momentarily, smiling at him before returning to the dwindling pile of correspondence. “Good morning, Xero. Is there something I can do for you this morning?” 

“No, please go ahead and finish your mail. I can see you’re nearly done. I can wait.” He leaned against the door frame, patiently awaiting his turn. 

Even after five years of working with the man, Hermione still found herself marveling at her boss’ impressive physicality. He was solid and muscular, which was visible even through the well-tailored suits he wore to the office. Sirius Black had been the tallest man she’d known, but for her half-giant friend Hagrid, and Xero surpassed him by at least four inches, possibly five. His hairless dark bronze skin always seemed to glow with health, and her hands sometimes itched to see what that stark white hair felt like, but she’d never dared ask. His eyes remained his most curious feature with their gold-and-white appearance. He looked like something out of one of her father’s old Hollywood Westerns, and you immediately assumed you would hear that stereotypical Native American accent from the movies. However, when he spoke, his Manchester upbringing was easily revealed. 

Ending her musings on her boss about the time she finished with her mail, she smiled broadly at him and invited him to have a seat. As he dropped into the comfortable chair opposite her desk, she asked, “So, Boss. What can I do for you?” 

“It’s been seven months now since the House Elf bill passed, and I know you’ve been busy with your studies, so I’ve been lenient on what you’ve been assigned since then, but I need to know what your plans are now that you’re here on a more permanent basis.” Never one much for small talk, he got straight to the point. 

Equally blunt and ready to move on with her career, Hermione answered, “Werewolves.” 

He nodded. “Werewolves then. And after that? We both know you won’t stop until all the sentient races have equal rights.” 

She grinned then, teeth and eyes gleaming. “Indeed. I’m not sure the order in which I’d like to do it, but I do know that before I leave my job here in Magical Creatures, you will be correct; they will all have the rights they deserve.” 

He chuckled at her vehemence. “So, werewolves. Where are you going to start?” 

“I was thinking I’d begin with a way to make the populace see them as less threatening than they currently are. Possibly by working with a Potions expert to increase the efficacy of Wolfsbane.” She sighed, not knowing if that was truly the best place to start or not. 

“That sounds like a good idea. Begin your research then, and I’ll be looking for your initial report and plan outline within the next month. We don’t currently have any Potions people in the Department, so you’ll have to outsource that part, but I don’t doubt you’ll find someone. You’re Hermione-bloody-Granger, after all.” He stood, winking and smiling at his last dig, and turned to leave. 

“Damn right. I’m Hermione-bloody-Granger, and I will do it all. Everything I’ve ever wanted to achieve, I will do. One of the overwhelming benefits of being me.” She employed the pureblood persona she’d used when shopping in Knockturn Alley, and ended her little diatribe by looking down her nose at him in a perfect imitation of Narcissa Black Malfoy. 

She held the look for just a moment before they both burst into loud laughter, the persona melting away under the force of their shared mirth. “Go take on the world, Madam Granger. If you need me for anything, you know where to find me.” He strode through the door, still lightly chuckling under his breath. 

“Thanks, Boss!” She yelled at his retreating back. She sat and began drafting up a rough plan on how to secure the rights that the werewolf community deserved. If the Wolfsbane potion was the first step, she would need a solid Potions expert on her team. She’d done well in Potions class at Hogwarts, and came away from it with an excellent primary education on the subject thanks to the fastidious efforts of Professor Snape, but hadn’t pursued its study afterward, choosing to concentrate on the subjects at which she’d truly excelled. 

She wasn’t familiar with any current experts in the field, and thought maybe Professor Stroulger, Hogwarts’ current Potions Master, might know of someone with both the knowledge and free time available to assist her. Between his past at Durmstrang and his years of teaching at Hogwarts, surely he would know of at least one person. So she drew out a fresh sheet of parchment and a sharp quill and drafted a formal letter asking for a list of recommendations for the position. 

Folding it carefully, she dripped on a bit of crimson wax, pressing her initialed seal into the hot wax to close the missive before dropping it into her Outbox, awaiting later delivery to Hogwarts either via owl or a special Floo connection. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

She was surprised to receive a reply from Professor Stroulger in her morning mail the next day. He said that he knew of only one former Apprentice who would fit all her criteria of time and knowledge to offer, as well as the resources to be able to devote to such an auspicious project. He had already contacted this Potions Mistress on her behalf, and said that Hermione should be hearing from her very soon. 

Hermione dashed off a quick reply thanking him for his assistance, and hoping that things would work out with the person he’d recommended. 

After sorting through the rest of her mail, she came across another formal-looking letter on thick, creamy parchment, sealed with fine quality blue wax, impressed with the initials TD. She cracked the seal open, unfolded the letter, and read: 

_Ms. Granger,_

_My name is Statira Evans, and I was asked by Professor Marcus Stroulger to contact you concerning some kind of project researching the Wolfsbane Potion. He said you were in need of someone with intimate knowledge of the Potion, time to devote to an intensive study into its working in the pursuit of possibly increasing its effectiveness and/or overall abilities, and the resources to be able to make this project succeed._

_I believe I may be the person for whom you are searching. I left Hogwarts in 1992, third in my class in overall academics, and first in my NEWT-level Potions class under Professor Snape. I then Apprenticed under Master Stroulger for four years before receiving my own Mastery in the subject in 1996._

_Since then, I have opened my own business, of which you may have heard – Tenper Dabi – which operates via Owl or Muggle Post Order, delivering quality potions at affordable prices. We have a vast Research division here at TD, and are already working on some minor modifications to Wolfsbane._

_I would be honored to work with you on this project, and can meet with you at your convenience. I look forward to your reply._

_Respectfully,  
_ _Statira Evans, Potions Mistress  
_ _Owner and Manager, Tenper Dabi Potions_  

Hermione’s eyes opened wide, Tenper Dabi was the business for which Fleur brewed, and they were indeed known for offering a wide variety of potions to the average witch or wizard for a very reasonable price. And this Mistress Evans was the owner. She read back through the letter a second and third time, realizing that Ms. Evans’ final year at Hogwarts had been Hermione’s own first year. She wracked her brain for several minutes, trying to scrape up any memory of her, but ended up with nothing. 

Third in her class, academically speaking, would have put her second in line for the Head Girl position that year, and to have actually completed seven years under Snape’s watchful eye was nearly recommendation enough for Hermione. She may not have always agreed with how Snape treated her and her Gryffindor friends, especially given the sheer hatred he’d harbored for Harry because of his father, but she couldn’t deny that his methods, strict as they may have been, probably saved their lives on numerous occasions, simply because they were too scared of his wrath to mess up. For that, she had always respected him. She hadn’t always _liked_ him, but she had respected him. 

She carefully penned a response, thanking Ms. Evans for her offer of help, and setting up a meeting for Monday at ten at her own office, making a note in her appointment book to that effect. 

The rest of her week passed in a blur of research on werewolves: their history, the few rights they currently had in the magical community, socio-economic status, and current means of control, including silver cages, chains and knives made of silver, and the controversial Wolfsbane potion. 

Of course, if she and Ms. Evans could perfect the Wolfsbane, then the other methods of so-called control would no longer be needed, and neither would a large portion of the legislation she was beginning to draft. 

To that end, she showed up at Hogwarts early Saturday morning and was surprised to find the gates open. It was the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and so had been made a Hogsmeade weekend to allow the students to buy last-minute gifts and to have their dates at Madame Puddifoot’s Teashop. On her way up the path, she passed a couple of early-rising couples, hands clasped tightly together between them, sides pressed together, and young love in their eyes. The sight sent her into a fit of melancholy, wishing she could share such an intimate walk with Minerva. In the past, however, it just wasn’t possible to do that with her Min due to the social stigmas of the time, and in her own present, Minerva was only her friend. 

Her face twisted with sadness and resentment over her situation, and she wished it was all over so she would at least know where she stood with Minerva in her own time. She hated being in this state of limbo, caught between the past, the present, and the future. 

As she reached the doors leading into the Entrance Hall, however, her mood brightened considerably when she saw Minerva standing, checking names from a list as students waited for their turn to head down to the village. 

“Mister Brown and Miss Burke, you are both on the list and cleared to go. Please remember that you represent the school when you are in the village and act accordingly.” Minerva looked over her glasses at the seventh-year couple, silently reminding them of the detention they’d served the week before for snogging in the corridors. 

“Yes, Headmistress!” They said in chorus before moving on, hands twining together. 

She was surprised to see Hermione skip up the steps, smiling broadly in her direction. “One moment, students.” She turned her attention back to the grinning brunette, receiving a kiss on the cheek as Hermione greeted her. “Good morning to you as well, Hermione. I wasn’t expecting visitors today.” 

In the week since she’d lain awake thinking about Hermione, she’d begun to build her walls back up in preparation for their next scheduled meeting, but seeing her so unexpectedly a week early reduced them all back to rubble. 

“I didn’t realize today would be a Hogsmeade day, or I would have waited until later to come, but if you’ll indulge me, I need some time in your office if possible. I have some questions for Professor Snape.” 

“Ah, of course. Take all the time you need with Severus. The password to get into my office is,” she paused to whisper the phrase into Hermione’s ear to keep the students from overhearing, “zugzwang.” 

Hermione ran her hand from Minerva’s shoulder down to her bent elbow before stepping away, adding, “Tea later?” 

“If you wish. But for now, I need to get back to allowing the students to leave before we both get mobbed.” She gave Hermione one of her small, rare public smiles, surreptitiously winking. 

Hermione walked away, laughing loudly at the remark and the following wink. She could hear the students whispering, but allowed all the comments to roll off her back. 

_‘Is that Hermione Granger?’_  
 _‘She’s Harry Potter’s friend!’_  
 _‘Wonder what she’s doing here?’_  
 _‘Did you hear? She got perfect scores on all her NEWTs!’_  
 _‘She never did. That’s impossible!’_  
 _‘She did! My older sister was here when they made the announcement.’_  
 _‘Wow.’_  
 _‘Wonder if she’s into younger men.’_  
 _‘Ha! I wonder if she’s into younger **women**. I’d give her a go if she was.’ _

The last one, however, made her skip a step, tripping lightly before recovering to continue on her way up the stairs, flushed red. She hoped nobody noticed. As open as she was learning to be with her friends and adopted family, she wasn’t ready to go public yet, and she didn’t need those kinds of rumors spreading. 

She quickly made her way up the stairs and through the corridors to the Head office, giving the password to the Gargoyle before ascending to Minerva’s office. 

The interior had changed a great deal since Dumbledore had been in residence, and indeed since the last time Hermione had seen it even after Minerva moved in. Gone were all the silver and glass devices that had littered every horizontal surface. Extra tables that had been brought in to help house all the doo-dads had been removed along with their contents, while extra bookshelves had been brought in to line the lower portion of every wall. Each shelving unit was completely filled, and Hermione could see that the way she arranged and sorted her books at home was mirrored here. 

Harry had once tried to joke with Hermione about rearranging the contents of the Black library in the house on Grimmauld Place so that they were sorted by color rather than by topic and author, and quickly found out that it was not a subject about which she was willing to joke. It had taken him a month to cancel the jinx and begin growing his eyebrows back in, and he’d learned his lesson well. 

The garish colors favored by Dumbledore had been replaced with rich jewel-toned shades of blue and yellow, red and green, accents in both silver and gold and dark wood, shining with the patina of age and careful maintenance. All in all, every one of the school’s houses were represented tastefully, the room suiting Minerva’s personality beautifully. 

Hermione’s eyes rose to take in the gallery of portraits, searching out familiar faces. She spoke briefly with Phineas Nigellus’ portrait, having spent a good deal of time with him during her year on the run. For some inexplicable reason, she avoided even looking at Dumbledore’s portrait, and he chose to do the same. Finally finding Professor Snape over to one side, very much in a space to himself, she settled one of Minerva’s Spartan-looking but comfortable chairs in front of it and sat, facing him. 

“Good morning, Professor Snape. I was wondering if I might have a few words with you.” Her voice was clear and confident as she tried to coax him into conversation. 

“Miss Granger. Is it not enough that I had to endure your never-ending stream of questions when I was alive? Must I also suffer them in the death of portraiture?” His acerbic wit was in fine form, as ever. 

“If you truly do not wish to converse with me, I cannot force you, sir, but I am doing some research into the Wolfsbane Potion, and as you are the only person I have ever known to have successfully brewed the complicated concoction, I thought I might appeal to your academic knowledge.” She remained confident in her words and mannerisms, both of which completely belied her internal state of nervousness. 

“Wolfsbane, Miss Granger?” He looked down his humped nose at her. “What kind of research are you doing, and for what purpose?” 

“As you may or may not know, Professor, I am currently working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Last year, I pushed through a bill giving House-Elves the right to demand compensation, clean uniforms, and healthy food from their employers if they so wanted it. They now also have the right to terminate their own employment rather than having to wait to receive clothes to gain their freedom from untenable living situations. My newest project is, as evidenced by my interest in Wolfsbane, the Werewolf population. I am in the early stages of drafting legislation that will grant werewolves the full rights owed to a human being, and I have begun negotiations with a Potions Mistress to start revisions and modifications to the Wolfsbane Potion in the ultimate goal of eliminating the Lycanthropy contagion once and for all. 

“However, in order to do my part, I would like to understand the complicated methodology and process behind making the potion so that I don’t go into these meetings ignorant and inept. While I may have Masteries in both Transfiguration and Charms, I did not pursue one in Potions.” 

She could see shock registering in his dark eyes, and perhaps a flash of respect before a smug look took over his face. 

“Ever the over-achieving know-it-all, Granger. One Mastery wasn’t enough for you, oh no, you had to have two. If I might ask… why not Potions? You were always,” he paused as though stumbling over the next word, “adequate in my class.” 

She smiled brightly at him, recognizing that ‘adequate’ was a vast compliment from the dour Potions Master. “Actually, sir, it was you. If you recall, Harry managed to get your copy of the sixth-year Potions textbook from Professor Slughorn. He used your notes in every class there for a while, coming out ahead of both myself and Malfoy, much to both of our vexation. 

“When I had the chance to study the notes you had made in the margins, improving on nearly every potion listed in some way, I could see that whereas I will always be a competent brewer when given a list of preordained instructions, I would _never_ have thought to make any of the changes you had done, sir, not a one of them. It was a depressing realization for me at the time, but in the end, I think I found my true calling in the two fields I chose to pursue. I was simply never as brilliant as you were, Professor; not with Potions, at least, and so I chose to apply my talents in the fields where my intellect could be best utilized.” 

“Miss Granger, I find myself flattered at your compliments on my skills. I,” he paused, eyes scurrying from side to side quickly, not daring to look at the witch who was staring at him, “also find that in the light of such discovery into your appreciation and recognition of my talents, I am willing to answer your questions on Wolfsbane. What do you need to know?” 

Her eyes welled up, touched by the emotion he had never shown when he was alive. “Everything.” 

Over his bout of emotion by that point, he rolled his eyes. “Everything. Of course.” His lips twitched to one side in an almost-smile at the thought of once again imparting knowledge to an appreciative mind. “Insufferable know-it-all.” 

She chuckled lightly. “At the risk of incurring your ire, Professor, I would dare to call you the overgrown bat to which most of my peers likened you during your tenure, but instead I’ll suggest we get started. I’m certain that a potion as complicated as Wolfsbane will take a long time to discuss.” 

Unable to hold it back any longer, he filled the office with a rich laughter she would not have believed could come from him. “Overgrown bat, indeed. Very well, let us begin.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva sighed in her post at the door, checking out the last couple heading to Hogsmeade. She already wasn’t handling her situation with Hermione well, still randomly feeling those patterns on the back of her hand from time to time, and then she’d shown up a week early, tearing down the shaky walls Minerva had been working on building up with her soft kiss on the cheek and that … Minerva sighed again, exhaling jaggedly and slumping back against the stone wall behind her. That brush of Hermione’s hand down her arm had affected her more than it should have. 

What was she going to do? She couldn’t give up her friend, but she couldn’t allow Hermione to think there might be a possibility of more, either. 

“Are you alright, Headmistress?” The gentle tones of Professor Oaks interrupted her musings. Minerva stood up straight, adjusting her robes. 

“Of course, Alice. What can I do for you?” Minerva brushed her own internal conflict to one side, pulling on her Headmistress mask and hiding herself behind it. 

“It’s time for your lunch. I’m here to take over list duties for the afternoon.” She held her hand out for the scrolled parchment list. 

Minerva handed it over, smiling briefly at her Muggle Studies instructor. “Thank you, dear.” She started walking toward the Great Hall, but was stopped when Professor Oaks called out behind her that lunch had been cleared away already. Altering her path, she climbed the stairs, her head filled with thoughts of what to do about Hermione and Morgan and her severely screwed up life. The castle moved the staircases to allow its Headmistress an unimpeded path to her office, and if that caused a few students some problems, then it was all the better. 

As she reached the gargoyle statue guarding the entrance to her office, it jumped to the side to allow her access without her having to speak the password. She’d nearly reached the heavy door when she was brought from her reveries by the sound of loud laughter coming from within the chamber. Her brow furrowed and her head cocked to one side, trying to suss out the origin of such a rich, deep laughter, accompanied by a higher-pitched and musical giggle. She’d often heard the sound of Hermione’s mirth over the years, but who could possibly be contributing to the cacophony in her office? 

She rested her forehead against the door for a couple seconds before straightening her spine, pulling her head upright, and marching industriously through the now-open doorway, only to stop short at the sight of Hermione and Severus’ portrait as they shared in some uproarious joke. 

“Oh, you have to be lying. There’s no way he ever did that!” 

“I assure you, Granger, he definitely did.” 

“I’d have paid a fortune to see that.” Hermione swiped at her eyes, tears escaping from the force of her extended laughter. 

“To see what, may I ask?” Minerva asked, a hint of amusement in her voice at their reactions, desperate to know what the event in question was. 

“Minerva!” Hermione jumped up from her seat and ran across the room, throwing her arms around her friend, who melted into the embrace despite herself and her need to create some distance between them. “Professor Snape was just telling me about this time in the eighties when you actually had a Christmas with no students in the castle and Professor Dumbledore…” 

Minerva interrupted her. “Oh yes,” she chuckled. “The infamous table dance. Albus always said he’d never live that one down. I suppose he was right.” Her remarks sparked a new round of laughter from Hermione, who had released the hug, but one arm was still wrapped around her back, Hermione’s hand lightly gripping her upper arm for support. Minerva was trying her best not to think about how comforting and warm the arm felt draped around her, desperately trying to ignore the tingles stemming from the contact on her arm. 

“You two shouldn’t go around spreading such horrible rumors about people who are no longer alive to defend themselves, you know. Terribly rude.” A thin, wispy voice floated down from Albus’ portrait for the first time since Hermione had entered the office hours earlier. 

“One could argue that if you don’t wish to be teased, Albus, then you shouldn’t show the entire teaching staff your knobby knees while dancing to Muggle disco music on top of the Head Table.” Minerva’s own acerbic wit made an appearance, and at the visual, Hermione guffawed loudly, her head tilting back. 

“Hmph,” came his reply. 

Minerva reached her hand up, crossing her body to pat Hermione’s hand, gently pulling her arm free of the touch. “Before you descended into fits of furious felicity, did you and Severus finish discussing whatever brought you up here?” 

Hermione’s arm dropped back to her own side. “Yes. I needed a quick and dirty explanation on Wolfsbane, and Professor Snape was kind enough help me out.” 

“Surely after such a lengthy conversation – including jokes and tales at Albus’ expense – he would have offered to let you use his given name rather than the honorific title, wouldn’t he, Severus?” She aimed a stern look his direction over the top of her square-framed glasses. 

He rolled his eyes at her attempt to intimidate him. “Surely you don’t think that look over your glasses works on me anymore? I’m no more than a limited consciousness locked away in paint and brought to life with magic.” 

“Oh, Severus, really.” 

“Very well, Miss Granger, you are certainly welcome to call me Severus if that is your wish.” He agreed with a mild sneer, the effect of which was ruined when he nearly smirked at the look of surprise on Hermione’s face. 

The look of surprise disappeared quickly, replaced with a mischievously sly grin and twinkling narrowed eyes. “So I may call you Severus? How about Sevvie? Can I call you Sevvie?” 

“Absolutely NOT! I may revoke your name privileges at all if you ever dare to even think it!” There was actual fury in the two-dimensional representation of his face. 

“No?” She continued to tease him, unaware of the pleasure their exchange was causing nearly every portrait in the office, as well as Minerva. “If Sevvie’s out, how about just Sev?” 

The fury disappeared, replaced at once with shock and deep melancholy. “I would really rather you just take the liberties I’ve given you and let the rest drop, Miss Granger.” He sighed deeply, or as close an approximation as a portrait could get. “What is it about the Muggle world that makes its young woman always want to shorten a person’s name?” 

At her quizzical look, he quietly explained, “Lily was the only one who ever called me Sev, and there was little enough of that in the later portions of our acquaintance.” 

“I’m sorry, Severus. I was only joking around a bit. I would have never dared actually call you anything else, you know.” She was distressed at having caused even this small portion of himself any further pain after everything he’d been through when alive. 

“It is of little consequence, Miss Granger. I only hope I was able to be of use with the Wolfsbane information. If I’m no longer needed, I believe I’ll take my leave.” 

“Of course, if you wish to go, then I’ve got everything I needed on the potion in my notebook. Thank you again, sir, for all your help. It was invaluable.” 

He nodded once and disappeared from his frame. 

“Well, that was a massive cock-up on my part.” 

Minerva shook her head, settling into her desk chair and waving a hand toward the remaining facing chair, silently offering for Hermione to have a seat. “No, my dear. You couldn’t possibly have known. If anything, it was my fault for bringing up the idea of your using his name.” 

“Still, I feel horrible for making him so sad.” 

“He knows that, Hermione. Truly. He’ll be fine in a little while, and I’ll be willing to bet that by your next visit, it will have been forgotten.” She rubbed a hand across her face and heard a light rumble from her stomach, reminding her that it was past time she had her noon meal. “Now, since you’re here and I have the afternoon free, would you like to join me for a little lunch?” 

“That would be lovely, Minerva. Thank you.” Hermione hadn’t realized how hungry she was until food had been mentioned, but now that the idea had been stirred, her stomach began loudly protesting its empty state. 

“Sunny?” 

An elderly-looking house-elf popped into the office, bowing as he asked, “Yes, Headmistress. How can Sunny help you?” 

“Can you please bring up two plates from lunch, and a pot of tea? Miss Granger and I missed our meal.” 

“Of course, Headmistress.” She glanced over at Hermione and nodded. “Sunny will be back soon.” A quick pop later, they were again alone in the office. 

Minerva stood and closed her eyes before waving her wand, conjuring up a round table from which they could share their meal. The two facing chairs were dragged over to the table, and the two sat, waiting for Sunny to return. 

“So did I hear you and Severus were discussing the Wolfsbane Potion?” Minerva was curious about what had caused Hermione to come by. 

“Yes. Now that my studies are finished and I have more time to devote to my job, Werewolves are next on my list of sentient beings to receive their equal share of rights.” A look of fond sadness passed over her face. “I only wish I had been in a position to do this research in time to help Remus.” 

“I’m sure he understands, Hermione. Wherever he is, I’m sure he understands.” 

“Still.” Hermione felt a pressing need to visit Remus and Tonks’ graves to pay her respects before embarking on her project. “Do you know where he and Tonks were buried? I’d like to go by one day if I can.” 

Before Minerva could answer, Sunny returned with a heavily-laden tray with two domed plates, flatware, and a pot of tea with a full service. Hermione started to offer help, but before she could, the tray’s contents had been distributed over the table. 

“Is there anything else Sunny can gets for either of you?” 

“No, thank you, Sunny. This looks perfect.” Minerva answered with a smile, followed by Hermione answering in much the same manner. 

With another bow, Sunny popped back out of the room. Hermione reached to pour tea, years of practice helping her to fix the perfect cup for both herself and Minerva. 

“Thank you,” she said, taking the first sip and savoring the flavor. “And to answer your earlier question, no, I am unaware of where they were taken. You would need to consult Andromeda to find out for sure.” She frowned for a moment as she chewed her first bite of roast chicken, bursting with flavor, swallowing the juicy and tender morsel. “I never before considered… Isn’t it odd that we don’t know? I know there were a lot of funeral ceremonies going on at the time, but you would think at least one of us would have received an invitation to theirs.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed and her eyes tilted up and to one side as she thought about it. “That is odd. I was never very close with Mrs. Tonks, but Harry was named as Teddy’s godfather, and if he’d gotten an invitation to their funeral – as he surely would have as Remus’ closest living family – he would have told me about it and we’d have both gone. I wonder what happened.” 

“I can understand myself being passed over, but as you said, surely Harry would have been asked.” 

“Quite curious. I’ll have to ask her when I go to find out where they are.” 

“Let me know what you find out?” 

“Of course.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

After they finished their lunch, Hermione stayed for only another half-hour, wanting to get back home to start poring over her notes and seeing what this knowledge of the potion could have on the research she’d already done. When she stood to leave, Minerva stood with her, and the two women hugged as they normally did when they parted from a visit, but in addition to their normal farewells, Hermione quickly pressed a soft kiss to Minerva’s cheek before making a swift exit down the stairwell on her way out of the castle and off the grounds. 

She hadn’t been gone long, and Minerva was back in her desk chair, slouching deeply into it, trying again to reconcile her situation in her mind. Hermione wasn’t exactly being _forward_ with her touches and attention, and all of their recent touches were well within the acceptable social norm. She just didn’t understand where it had all come from. Before their forced kiss at Christmas, they had certainly hugged each other when parting, and small touches in comfort might not have been frequent occurrences, but they hadn’t ever felt out of place, either. 

Perhaps Hermione was just getting more comfortable in her presence and it didn’t mean any more than that. Maybe the complications were all on her own side and all in her head. Sitting up, she reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a bottle of Gillywater. She poured a small glass and put the bottle away, sipping slowly from her drink. 

What if that’s truly all it was? A further deepening of their friendship? She had admitted the possibility of further feelings on her own part, but if that’s as far as it went, then there was no reason to bother Hermione about it. Hermione did know about her relationship with Morgan, after all, and had never shown any real signs of being attracted to her. 

Deciding to keep an eye out for signs that something more existed before talking to Hermione about it, Minerva finished off her drink, licking her lips to clean them of lingering liquor. 

It was none-too-quick, either. As soon as she’d finished cleaning the glass and replacing it in the drawer with her bottle, she heard a request from the Gargoyle, stating that a student was requesting emergency entrance. Snapping her wand back into its sheath, she went down to meet the student rather than waiting to allow them up first. Her job as a teacher, guardian, and the Headmistress of the school was never over. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The notes she’d taken during her time with Snape’s portrait were truly valuable to Hermione’s research. He had gone into detail on every ingredient, and every step of the brewing process, including the modifications he’d made to the standard process over the years, and how those changes compared to the normal method in both preparation and overall effectiveness and potency. 

Looking over the comparisons, she could see why Remus had been such a safe teacher – he was getting the best potion possible from the most skilled Potions Master available. 

Her heart still hurt at the loss of the last Marauder and his young wife, never mind that it had been nearly seven years since they died. He was the biggest reason behind Werewolves being next up on her list. They would have been first, but she wanted to be able to give them her entire focus, and between her regular work duties and her Mastery work before, she wouldn’t have had time to do it properly. House Elves required much less focus, as they mostly didn’t even want the extra rights she was giving them, but for all their hard work and dedication, they deserved everything she’d been able to pass by the Wizengamot on the bill. 

She had penciled in time on Friday to go visit with Tonks’ mother, Andromeda, so she could ask about the whereabouts of Remus and Tonks’ graves, but she was feeling a little apprehensive about the trip. She had seen the disowned member of the Black family at various social gatherings with little Teddy, but they had never fostered much of a relationship, and she found herself nervous. 

Shaking her odd feelings off, she dug back into her research. 

She kept at the manic research mode the rest of Saturday, and all day Sunday, stopping only to eat, shower, and sleep. By the time Monday morning came, Hermione was looking a little worse for the wear, but she felt like she actually had an A-game to bring to her meeting with Ms. Evans. 

She ran her mile, had a quick breakfast, and a long shower, pulling her hair back into twin French-braids, bringing the tails around to the opposite side of her head, pinning them in place, and tucking the ends under, perfectly hidden. She wore a charcoal-grey pencil skirt with a white silk blouse, sheer stockings, and shiny black pumps. 

Arriving at her office promptly at eight, she began the long process of sorting through her weekend buildup of mail and memoranda. Once she’d gotten through everything, she looked at her wristwatch and realized she had another half-hour to kill before Ms. Evans was supposed to arrive. 

Looking at the stack of files on the front right corner of her desk, she decided to fill the time by putting them away. Filing was such a banal job, but from time to time, it had to be done. She was nearly finished, putting the last few in the next-to-bottom drawer, thus standing with her arse high in the air when she heard a throat clear behind her. 

She closed her eyes in embarrassment, managing to say, “I’ll be with you in just a minute,” with a perfectly modulated voice. Placing the last file, she closed the drawer and stood upright, composed herself mentally, and turned to face her visitor. As she began to turn, she introduced herself, “Hermione Granger, sorry about that.” 

“No problem. Statira Evans, here for my ten o’clock appointment.” Her voice was a step or two below Hermione’s, and was very pleasant and friendly. Hermione finished turning, her hand raising for a handshake, and caught her first glimpse of Ms. Statira Evans. Blinking rapidly, the air left her lungs, and she found herself unable to breathe in. 

Her panicked eyes raked over the tall woman who was reaching out to shake her own outstretched hand. She had dazzlingly green eyes and long loose curls in shades of red and blonde. This was the woman from Flourish and Blotts who had inspired the way Hermione had formed her glamours for her trip to the past, and thus the way Morgan looked. 

As their hands pressed together for the expected handshake, the panic and lack of oxygen caught up to her racing heart, and Hermione fell to the floor in a dead faint. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, how many of you saw her making a return appearance? Hopefully I was able to surprise at least a couple of you.
> 
> Sorry the update’s just a little shorter than normal this week, but this felt like the best, most natural place to leave off. 
> 
> To answer the questions I don't want you to have to ask, no, Professor Alice Oaks is not named for the Pokémon character. She's actually based around the woman who taught my Senior English class in High School. Her name was Ms. Oaks - not Alice, however. I didn't want to straight up steal a real person's name for fic inclusion. Ms. Oaks was a great English teacher, and actually a big influence on me as a reader and writer. She's the one who introduced me to Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, which was my first love affair with Scotland.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.
> 
> You should all know this by now, but I very rarely either confirm or deny anything you come up with in your reviews when it comes to supposition of what’s yet to come. I do enjoy reading your theories though. Keep ‘em up!
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Brown eyes fluttered open, meeting worry-filled green ones. 

“Minerva?” She croaked out, realizing as she said it that the green was the wrong shade. This was more like … “Harry?” 

“I’m sorry?” The green-eyed woman sounded confused at the references. “No, my name is Statira Evans. We had an appointment?” 

Right. The Potions Mistress. Ms. Evans. The woman from the bookshop. Hermione sat up, closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple her back over. 

“Of course, Ms. Evans. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” The dizziness passed, and her eyes reopened to find the redhead crouched down beside her, a hand held out in her direction, the offer to help her up implied with the gesture. 

Hermione reached for the hand and allowed herself to be pulled back to a standing position. She shook her head lightly, ridding herself of the last vestiges of brain-fog. Straightening her spine, she smiled. “Shall we start over, then? I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.” 

Ms. Evans grinned in response, laughing lightly. “I’m Statira Evans, and the pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure.” 

Hermione sat down behind her desk, and waved her left hand in the direction of her guest chair. “Won’t you have a seat?” 

“Thank you.” Ms. Evans lowered herself elegantly to the chair, leaning back comfortably and crossing one long leg over the other. Her robes were just a shade or two lighter than her eyes, complementing her hair and clear, lightly tanned skin, and draped nicely over her figure, obviously tailored to fit perfectly. Her overall appearance was that of strength, knowledge, and wealth, which matched what Hermione had been able to learn about her. 

“Well, I’ve never been one to waste time, and I’m sure that running Tenper Dabi keeps you very busy, so I’ll get right to it, if you don’t mind. What do you know about Wolfsbane, and do you have any ideas on how we might improve it so that symptoms of the disease are greatly reduced? I’m hoping for eventual eradication to ease the burden on those afflicted, but I’m realistic enough to realize that it may not be possible.” Hermione’s voice was business-like in its briskness, but there was an underlying passion that was easily heard and understood. 

“Of course. I certainly don’t mind getting right to business. The problems with the current Wolfsbane formula are many and varied. First, there are ingredients required that are costly to acquire; most Werewolves who would want the potion are in such a state of unemployment that they cannot afford it. Second, after the expensive ingredients have been gathered, it takes most of the month to brew the actual potion, and it isn’t one of those like, for instance Polyjuice, which can be left alone for long periods of time; it takes a certain amount of care to come out at its most effective. 

“The biggest hurdle, of course, is that most of the werewolf population doesn’t want to take it. On top of the prohibitive costs associated, it tastes rather disgusting, and they still have to be contained in silver cages to prevent themselves from hurting anyone and passing on the contagion. 

“As I said in my letter, we have been working on ways to improve both the taste and effectiveness of the potion, but test subjects are hard to come by, and while those who are unaffected by Lycanthropy can test the finished product for taste, we require healthy werewolves to test its efficacy. I have a considerable amount of finances available to pay them for their time, but many are unwilling to risk hurting our researchers in case something goes wrong.” Her voice, deeper than Hermione’s but not as deep as the glamoured version she used as Morgan, was filled with sincerity as she described the plight of modern werewolves. 

“I understand those concerns from both sides of the fence. I once knew someone afflicted with the disease from a very early age, and witnessed one of his transformations on a night when extenuating circumstances made him forget to take the potion.” She heard Ms. Evans gasp. “No, don’t worry, I wasn’t bitten, nor was anyone else. Thankfully, there were those around who knew how to handle him in that state, and we were kept safe. It was dangerous, nonetheless, and my friends and I were terrified, but we were rather used to that at the end of our school years by then.” 

“That’s right, you were friends with Harry Potter, weren’t you? I still get the shakes thinking about Quirrell walking around all year with you-know-who in that filthy turban.” 

Hermione’s eye twitched lightly at the corner before she replied coolly, “Yes, that was me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure you get tired of being equated with your friend. I just hadn’t made the connection until now.” 

Hermione sighed, trying to let it go. “It’s alright, Ms. Evans. Really. Although, I do believe it’s safe to refer to him by name now. I saw him fall, never to rise again. I saw his body burn to ashes later, under the watchful eyes of the remains of the Order. Forgive me the terrible sanity of the thought, but I would prefer that you call him by either of his names – Voldemort or Riddle – and leave behind this ‘he-who-must-not-be-named’ and ‘you-know-who’ nonsense.” Her voice was quiet and serious, and the emotions behind it touched Ms. Evans. 

“I… yes. Of course. Or would could just get back to Wolfsbane and leave him in the past where he belongs.” 

Hermione looked up at the beautiful woman that had unknowingly wreaked such havoc on her life the previous June, and saw a look in her eyes she had seen so often from Harry, and the eyes were just so similar. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Is there any chance you’re related to Harry Potter, Ms. Evans? His mum was an Evans before she married and your eyes are just _like_ his and the pictures we have of her, and it’s quite eerie really. I’m sorry, but I have to ask.” 

The redhead looked surprised at the question. “I’ve never considered it, but I suppose it’s possible if his mum was an Evans, though I wouldn’t know for sure. My family comes from the Derby area if that helps.” 

“I think that’s where his mum was from, but I’m not certain. Nobody ever talked about a Lily or Petunia, did they? Harry’s mum was Lily, and her sister is called Petunia. Petunia Dursley now.” 

“Petunia? Rather thin and sour with a blob of a son and husband? Surely not her.” 

“Sounds fairly accurate, actually.” Hermione laughed softly at the description. “I’ve never met them, but from what Harry’s said over the years, it seems right.” 

“She’s my…” she paused for a moment, eyes turned up in thought “… second cousin once removed or something like that.” 

“You are related to Harry then, through his mum and your dad. I thought the similarities in your eyes were too great to be a coincidence.” She flicked her eyes up toward the clock hanging on her wall, considering sending a note requesting a meeting with Harry, but deciding against it. She’d tell him some other time and not put either of them under the pressure of an immediate meeting in the Ministry. 

“Right then. I’m terribly sorry to be so nosy. I’m afraid I don’t have much in my office in terms of refreshments, but I can offer you a glass of water if you’d like one.” Hermione pulled a clean glass out of her desk drawer and filled it for herself with conjured water. 

“No, I’m fine, but thanks.” 

Hermione nodded in response, took a small sip of her water, before speaking again. “Shall we get back to the topic at hand then?” 

“Yes, I believe we should.” 

“I have some notes here that I took on the Potion that I think you should see.” She handed a copy of her notebook across the desk, offering up the information she’d gleaned from Snape’s portrait. Ms. Evans took the notebook and began scanning through the meticulous notes, her eyes showing more and more excitement the further into them she got. 

“These are marvelous! I’d never have thought to make even half these changes, but the implications are that the potion will be far less finicky to brew, and for only three-fourths the current cost. Are these changes yours? Forgive me if I call you brilliant and ask under whom you studied for your Mastery if they are. I don’t know why you’re seeking out someone like me if you can do this.” 

Hermione was thrilled with her response, but had to admit the truth. “No, I don’t hold a Mastery in Potions; mine are in Transfiguration and Charms.” 

She blinked incredulously. “Both? These are definitely the work of a Master though. If not you, then who?” 

“I went up to Hogwarts this weekend and had a nice long chat with Professor Snape’s portrait. Those are his modifications.” 

“I always knew he was brilliant behind all that snark and stoicism, but this… wow. I never knew he was quite this exceptionally talented.” 

“I think that had his life’s circumstances been different, he could have turned out much differently and been highly respected for his talents. It just wasn’t meant to be.” There was a bit of lingering sadness behind Hermione’s eyes as she thought about the miserable life Snape had lived, but while certain things had certainly been beyond his control, she knew his bad choices had colored his life as much as or even more than those external forces. 

The sadness slowly disappeared as they discussed the merits and drawbacks of each formula, and how they might help incite the Werewolf population to come in and help test the changes. The older Potions Mistress had a presence that set Hermione at ease as they talked. The meeting stretched into the afternoon, and the two made great strides in the research Hermione had done, adding copious amounts of notes to what she had already written up. 

When Statira had finally left – they’d moved to a first-name basis as they continued talking, agreeing that it was silly to keep up such formalities when they would be working together so closely on the project – Hermione had bid her farewell and sunk gratefully back into her chair. She was happy to note that her previously blinding attraction to the woman was no longer present. Statira was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, but each time she’d spared a thought to the allure she’d held in the bookshop that day and how she’d made Hermione feel, the resurgence of those feelings had been accompanied by flashes of eyes a different shade of green, hair the color of coal, skin as pale as alabaster and flushed with blotches of pink and red, and thin pink lips parted as they moaned her name. As beautiful as Statira was, nobody could live up to the perfection of _her witch_. 

The mental imagery of her Min was enough to make her wish she could make her next trip back, but there was so much going on with her Werewolf project, and she would be too distracted by her research to give her lover the attention she deserved to have when Hermione was with her. She would go soon, she thought with a smirk, very soon, but not yet. 

She thought, then, to the discovery she’d made about the connection between Statira and Harry. If Statira had been correct about the distance between herself and Petunia, then she and Harry would be third cousins, meaning that they shared a great-great-grandparent. She thought Harry would probably love to meet his cousin, but she wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Also, Statira seemed like a good and decent person, but what if she decided she wanted to increase her own social standing by playing off this previously unknown connection? 

Hermione didn’t think that would be a real problem, but in case that did turn up since Statira was now aware of the association, she wanted to be sure she spoke with Harry beforehand. 

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d worked through lunch. Checking the time, she decided to head out for the day. Xero was flexible with her on hours because of the nature of her work and the research she routinely had to do in order to draft new legislation, and also for when she was sent out for field work pertaining to the regulation and control of the less-intelligent magical creatures. 

Gathering up all her notes and files on Werewolves and Wolfsbane, she shoved them into her leather briefcase and left for the day. She stopped on the way home for something small and quick to eat, and once back at her flat, she sent a Patronus message off to Harry, asking if he and Luna were available for supper. While she waited for a response, she sat at her desk and began cleaning up her notes, organizing everything neatly. 

About an hour passed before Harry’s stag came prancing into the small office, relaying his message that Luna hadn’t been feeling very well, but that she was welcome to come over and eat with them if she wanted. She replied in the affirmative, happy to spend time with her friends and to get to eat some of Kreacher’s excellent cooking. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

At half-six, Hermione appeared in the back garden of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, commonly known as The CM after Harry and Hermione had renamed it to Corrigeons Manoir the summer after the final battle at Hogwarts. Construction was nearly complete on Harry’s family home in Godric’s Hollow, and the wedding was set for June so that they could host the wedding at the newly rebuilt estate before beginning their married life together there. Until then, both Harry and Luna – as well as Ron – were still living in the former Order Headquarters. 

Her lips turned up slightly at one side, remembering fond times spent in the back yard. Changing the wards to allow apparition to a certain few people out back instead of on the sliver of top step that had been previously allowed had made such a difference in the ease of transporting oneself in and out of the house. 

A cold breeze filtered through her loose hair, and she closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and spun around a few times with her arms widespread, picking up speed with each one as she’d done after the New Year’s party the year she’d been at school without her boys. 

“You seem to have a habit of doing that back here.” 

Her smile grew wider at the musical voice of her best friend’s fiancée. “Come spin with me.” 

“If I were feeling better, perhaps I would, but I think it’s unwise right now.” 

“It’s never really wise, but it is fun.” She spun a few more times, slowing down and eventually stopping, opening her eyes to face the blonde woman standing by the door. “Harry mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Everything okay?” 

A soft smile drifted across Luna’s pale lips. “Oh, Harry’s clueless as usual.” Hermione laughed at the statement, but was curious as to the nature of the illness. “I suspect what ails me will begin to subside in another couple months or so, but won’t be completely over until, oh let’s say September? It’s a guess, really, but I’m reasonably sure.” 

Hermione looked at her quizzically for another moment or two, the mental puzzle pieces slowly moving around each other, but what made everything come together and form the answer was when Luna’s hand drifted across her lower abdomen. 

“A baby? Oh my god, you’re pregnant!” Happiness for her friends suffused her body, resulting in a blinding smile beaming from her face as she rushed over to the younger woman, wrapping her arms tightly around and swinging her in a couple quick circles. 

Pleased laughter stopped when the third spin began, and Luna’s hands on her shoulders stopped Hermione on the spot. “Oh. God. Unwise right now. Right. Sorry!” 

“It’s alright. I haven’t told Harry yet because I want to see a Healer to be certain first, but I don’t see how it could be anything else.” 

“I’m so happy for you, Luna. You’re going to be an _amazing_ mom, and oh gods, Harry’s going to be ecstatic when he finds out.” 

A worried look passed briefly over Luna’s face, and she snuggled further into the arms that were still wrapped around her. “You think so? That I’ll be a good mom, I mean.” 

“Of course you will. Why would you think otherwise?” 

“Oh, just normal doubts that plague every first-time parent, I suppose. I just… my father did the best he could after Mum died, but I missed her presence and scent and her unfailingly sound advice, especially once puberty came and I started to realize that on top of all the other oddities for which I was so often teased, I was bisexual as well. I wanted to run to my mother and cry in her warm embrace, but I couldn’t. I ended up going to Madam Hooch, and she definitely helped, but she wasn’t my mother and it wasn’t the same. 

“My biggest hope is that I can be like that for my children, and I fear that I won’t be there for them in those important moments, just like my mother. Oh, I know Harry will be an exceptional father after the childhood he had with those _people_ ,” she spat out the word bitterly, “masquerading as ‘family,’ but I can’t leave the entire burden on him. He has so much to deal with already.” 

Hermione tightened her arms around Luna’s back and laid her cheek on the top of the blonde head nestled against her. “Listen to me. You aren’t going anywhere. You’re both going to live to a ripe old age and watch your family grow and grow and grow until you’re surrounded by so many grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren that you can’t even remember all their names. And every one of them will remember that their Grandmother Luna had always smelt of,” she sniffed delicately, “honeysuckle and that she gave the best advice. As batty as it could be at times, there was always a nugget of deepest truth in it if they pondered it long enough – after getting over the laughter she always handed out the way some grandmothers handed out sweeties and cheek-pinches. You’re going to be marvelous.” 

Her words were greeted with a quiet sniffle. “I believe you think better of me sometimes than I think of myself. Thank you, Hermione.” She stepped back from the embrace and set about cleaning her face of the watery evidence of her crying jag. 

“That’s what friends are for, and whatever else we once were, we are friends, Luna.” Her words were soft and from the heart, and Luna could feel the final jagged edges of their torn relationship mend. 

“Let’s get in out of the cold, and while we sit down with a cup of tea, you can tell me who she is.” 

“Who do you mean?” They took the few steps from the patio into the warm kitchen, Hermione hanging her cloak by the door on the way in. 

“Whoever has finally captured your heart, of course.” 

Hermione stopped in her tracks, as Luna whirled around the kitchen, putting together a tea tray. “Who… what… how?” 

“You’ve acted strangely around me ever since we ended our relationship, Hermione. You’ve found it difficult to touch me even casually, as recently as this past Halloween. I noticed a small difference at Christmas and the New Year, and a greater difference at your dinner party, but tonight you’ve smiled more brightly than I’ve seen since the morning you got your NEWT results, you swung me in circles, and let me cry out my insecurities in your arms. It all adds up to happiness and fulfillment, and for you, that means someone has finally laid a claim on you and your heart. Who is she?” 

Hermione wavered for a moment, her resolve beginning to crumble, but still holding. 

“So, how are my two favorite witches in the world doing tonight?” Harry’s voice boomed as he entered the kitchen, having flooed from work into the library. He kissed Luna on the cheek and crossed to do the same to Hermione. When he got close to her, however, he could see the beginnings of tears sparkling in her eyes, and her chin was trembling ever so slightly, hands clenched at her sides in an effort to stem the flow of emotion. He reached up to grip her shoulders, placing a gentle kiss to her cheek, and with a soft voice asked if she was alright. 

“I, I, I… Oh, Harry.” She collapsed against his chest, crumbling resolve down to nothing from his question. He looked at Luna questioningly and she shrugged in response, not wanting to say anything further without Hermione’s permission. He pulled her closer and maneuvered them into a seated position on one of the bench seats, straddling the wooden bench to keep Hermione in position against his chest. They sat that way for several minutes, Hermione taking her turn to cry into a loving embrace just as Luna had done with her only moments earlier. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, ‘Mione. Do I need to beat sense into someone for you? You’ve always been quite capable of doing that for yourself in the past, but if I need to flex my Auror muscles for you this time, I will.” 

She snorted at his jokingly serious words and mumbled into his sweater, “No, Harry, there’s nobody to beat up this time, except maybe my own ego.” 

“So what’s wrong?” 

Luna finished the tea tray and set it on the table, sitting on Hermione’s other side, rubbing her hand up and down Hermione’s back. 

“Is this to do with what I asked before Harry came in?” 

Hermione sat up straight and nodded as she cleaned her face. “Merlin help me, Luna, it is. I trust the two of you more than I trust nearly anyone, and I have got to talk to somebody about this before I rip myself to pieces. So I just need you to listen, and I need to know that what I tell you won’t leave the room.” 

“Of course,” they said in unison. 

She inhaled, deeply but shakily, and began to tell them of her relationship with Minerva, starting with their meetings during her delayed seventh year. She told them of the conversation regarding the light and dark that existed inside everyone and how she’d shocked herself and Minerva both with that revelation. She told them about her monthly visits after leaving school, and about how close they’d grown as friends. She told them about Ron’s proposal and the walk around the lake and Minerva’s admission that she was also gay, and her inspiration to find out what had happened to Morgan. She told them of the creation of the Time Crystal and her first trip back to 1947. She admitted to her growing feelings at that point, and the seeming randomness of the enchanted mistletoe after she’d returned. She told them about her second trip and all the planning that had happened to be sure things went off without a hitch. Meeting Minerva’s family, the gift for her brother and its modifications, the unplanned coming out to Rob, and how she’d been treating Minerva since returning from the past. 

She left out nothing, blushing when she mentioned their lovemaking – leaving out the most details there than in any of the rest, but touching on the subject nonetheless. 

When she finished, Luna and Harry were both speechless, not expecting any of that from such a simple question as ‘Who is she?’ 

“I love her so much, and I’m hurting her with every day I don’t tell her, but I feel as though telling her before I’ve made every trip is only inviting in further complications, and this is far too complicated as it is and I want to go back and spend every minute of my life with her, but I know I can’t because I didn’t and I wanted to _end_ her sadness and pain, not make it last even longer and I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know what to do and I hate not knowing and I hate what I’m doing and I hate myself. She deserves better than me.” 

“What you think she deserves is immaterial. If the feelings between you are as strong as you’ve said they are, then she can do no better.” Luna’s voice was a source of quiet strength as she spoke softly. “I agree that you must keep it a secret until you’ve both experienced all of the past, or else you risk creating an unsolvable paradox and undoing all the good parts as well as the bad. And Hermione? There is good in this, as much as there is pain, if not more. That’s what love is.” 

Grey eyes flicked up to Harry’s face, hoping to get him to chime in and agree, but he was sitting there, stiff with a faraway glaze in his eyes. 

“So… you can make unlimited trips to the past. To any point in the past. As many as you want. As often as you like, given that you allow your magical core to recuperate in between.” 

“Harry…” Hermione’s voice came with a sharp tone of warning, seeing where he was heading with his line of questioning. “I can’t change the past. I can’t kill someone who was proven to have lived, and I can’t save anyone who was proven to have died.” 

“No, I know that. But … you could bear witness to certain events, couldn’t you?” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Luna’s eyes darkened and hardened. “No, Harry. I don’t think she can, and nor can you if you went with her.” 

“But … if she’s going to be there at the right time anyway, why not?” His voice was beginning to break. 

“ _She_ is right here, thank you. Now what the hell are we talking about?” Hermione had always gotten annoyed when people spoke about her as though she wasn’t there, and this was no exception. 

“I just … I was thinking … if you’re going to be making visits to the late seventies, I thought maybe with your connection to McGonagall, you might wrangle your way into an invitation to … say, my parents’ wedding. And take me with you, glamoured and hidden under the cloak if necessary, so I can see them alive and well and happy, just once.” 

“No, Harry. I won’t do that. _If_ I happen to be around at the time and _if_ Minerva receives an invitation and _if_ she asks me to go with her, then I will attempt to take some photographs for you, and we’ll find a bloody pensieve so you can view my memory of the event, but I am _not_ taking you with me. Talk about unsolvable paradoxes, and please note all of the _IF_ statements in there. Chances are bloody slim that it will happen that way, but I will not take you with me and have to explain your presence to Minerva and risk all the potential fallout of that. I won’t do it.” 

“What I can do, however, is put you in contact with a cousin you never knew you had.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

His feet landed in the fireplace and he stepped out, brushing soot from his work robes. He’d already had his dinner, but headed toward the kitchen from the library to let his housemates know he made it home. He was exhausted from a long day on his broom, followed by the dinner meeting with the new owner of the Pride. He looked down at his hand, still feeling the smooth manicured skin and the way it had glided over his own calloused hand when they’d shaken their goodbye. There had been something behind that handshake; something he couldn’t readily identify and hadn’t expected, especially from … He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. 

As he approached the kitchen door, he could hear a third voice added to the regularly soft tones of his housemates. The added voice made him smile broadly, and he paused at the door for a moment to listen. 

“So you just up and _asked_ her, Hermione? Oh my god.” 

“I know, I know. It was so rude and if it hadn’t worked out, I’d have nearly died after already having fainted at her feet earlier.” 

“After what you told me about her before, I should probably be offended that you’ve lusted after and now fainted at the feet of my cousin, but honestly, I think it’s just adorable.” Harry laughed loudly, presumably in response to Hermione’s blushing reply. 

“Oh, do shut up.” 

“I can’t wait to meet her.” 

“I think you’ll really like her, Harry. Both of you.” 

The snippet of conversation didn’t make much sense taken out of context, but Ron decided to just leave them to their dinner and conversation. A large yawn split his face silently, and he turned around and went upstairs to his room, where he stretched across the bed fully clothed and fell into a deep sleep, permeated by dreams of white hair and soft skin. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

After the disaster of having to tell Harry that she wouldn’t risk the entire timeline to take him back to meet his parents, he’d been delighted to hear of a magical relation from his mother’s side of the family. They’d joked and talked their way through dinner, which had consisted of some light but thoroughly pleasant dish Kreacher had come up with to help fight the effects of Luna’s morning sickness while still providing the essential nutrients she needed to hold onto. 

At one point, Hermione thought she heard Ron come in, but if so, he’d gone straight up to bed without stopping in to say hello. It didn’t worry her; their friendship was on the mend, and she’d see him some other time. 

Back at her flat, she got ready for bed feeling better about her situation with Minerva after having talked to Harry and Luna about it. It had only been a couple months since she’d begun her visits, but she had so much left to go until she could finally come clean, and knowing that she had someone she could go to for support in the meantime was so incredibly helpful. 

As she’d done nearly every night since her return from the past, she slid between her sheets and luxuriated in the cool, smooth material against her bare skin. She’d gotten into the habit of sleeping without clothing while with her Min, and she couldn’t see any reason to deny herself the comfort since she lived alone. The only time she’d had to bother keeping her knickers and tight sleeping shorts on was when her period had come, but as it was again absent, there was no reason to sleep clothed. 

She was aching for her lover’s touch, but unable to have it, she extinguished the lights and tried to bring herself over the edge. After trying unsuccessfully for several minutes, she gave up. After having had the best, nothing less would do. She lay awake for a while, thinking about Min and Minerva and wondering about what was yet to come. 

The rest of the week passed in a blur of meetings and research, her longing for Minerva growing with every night spent alone in her bed. Friday morning, she woke earlier than usual and went out for her run, extending the distance to help get rid of some of her frustrations before her meeting with Andromeda Tonks. She knew logically that going to their graves wouldn’t serve a real purpose, but the mystery of why nobody knew where they were buried wouldn’t leave her alone until she solved it. 

After her elongated run, she took a long shower and sat back down at her desk, wrapped in a soft robe, to clear up her notes from the week’s research. She had a few hours to kill, having arranged to be at the Tonks home outside Bristol around one. After completing the work on her notes, she had a light lunch and pulled some nice but comfortable clothes from her closet: black denim jeans, a soft green jumper with a flattering v-neckline, and tall black leather boots. She pulled the top and sides of her hair up and clipped them into place, forming a fountain of chestnut colored curls flowing down her back. 

She checked her clock and saw that she had fifteen minutes until she was set to arrive. Grabbing her cloak, she threw it around her shoulders and apparated away to the safe point closest to her destination. It was a quick walk from there down to the Tonks home, and Hermione enjoyed the late winter sun on her face. Spring wouldn’t be too far from making an appearance, she predicted. 

She reached the neatly kept house and rang the bell, noticing the profusion of winter wildflowers blooming from the window-boxes. The door was quickly answered, and Andromeda’s striking resemblance to her dead sister almost set Hermione back a step, her hand reaching down unthinkingly to caress the handle of her wand where it hung at her waist. The hair was lighter, and there was a kindness in her dark eyes that Bellatrix had never shown. 

“Miss Granger. Welcome to my home.” She held one hand out, gingerly waiting for the accustomed handshake. 

Setting aside her unease, Hermione offered a friendly smile as she accepted the older woman’s hand and lightly shook it. “Thank you for having me. I apologize for the short notice, but as my note said, I have a few questions that I thought you might be able to answer for me.” 

“Yes, of course. Please come in. Teddy’s just down for his after-lunch nap, but I have a pot of tea ready if you’d like a cup.” 

“That sounds lovely, thanks.” Hermione followed her into the narrow front hallway, closing the door behind them. 

“There are pegs there if you’d like to hang your cloak. We’ll be in the room to the right once I bring in the tea. Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll be just a minute.” Andromeda disappeared into the doorway at the end of the hall. 

Hermione removed and hung her cloak, then entered the indicated room, finding it warm and pleasant and spotlessly clean. The floor was wooden, but covered with a pale floral rug, the print of which matched the delicate-looking furniture. One corner of the room had been set aside for Teddy to play in and held a brightly-colored toy chest, a miniature table and chair, and surprisingly, a small television set and DVD player held on an end-table with a bright collection of children’s discs stored in the open area below. There was a short bookshelf next to the television table, and it was overfilled with worn children’s books. 

Andromeda entered the room then, and they sat down to enjoy their tea. There was some social small talk while they each settled in and got comfortable in each other’s presence, but after only a few minutes like that, the older woman set her cup back down on the table and got down to business. 

“Now, why don’t you tell me what it is you think I can do for you, Miss Granger.” Her manner was friendly and open, but Hermione could tell she honestly had no idea why the brains of the golden trio was there to see her. 

“I was up at Hogwarts this past weekend, taking care of some business, and Minerva and I,” she noticed Andromeda raising an eyebrow at the informal usage of the Headmistress’ first name, “were discussing my latest work assignment.” Hermione explained, “My next project is to see that Werewolves are given the rights they deserve, and I’m working with a Potions Mistress to see about helping to improve the Wolfsbane potion. I told her that I only wish I could have done this in time to help Remus, and the two of us realized that there was never a public funeral for either him or Tonks after the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

“No, there wasn’t.” Her eyes looked haunted at the thought of her deceased daughter and son-in-law. 

“I’m curious as to why, but the main focus of why I’m here is to find out where they’re buried so I can pay my respects as I begin this project. You seemed to be the most likely person who would be able to provide this information.” 

“Indeed, I would be. However, Hermione – may I call you Hermione?” She received a nod in the affirmative. “However, Hermione, the reason there was never a public funeral is because they were never buried. There are no graves to visit.” 

Hermione stared at her, mouth open, and she nearly dropped her cup of tea before recovering and setting it on the table in front of her. “What… What do you mean? No graves? They weren’t buried? Were they cremated instead? Surely they have a final resting place.” Her eyes swept around the room, searching for urns filled with human ash. 

“No, dear, that’s not what I meant. I’m saying this rather clumsily, but I suppose I thought you would know. They were never buried because they aren’t dead. They give a rather good impression of it, true, but the fact remains that they are alive.” 

Hermione was glad she had already put down her teacup, because had it still been in her hands, she would have dropped it. “Alive?” 

“Of course, dear.” The woman’s calm composition was starting to grate on Hermione’s frazzled nerves. 

“But … how? We all saw their bodies in the Great Hall during the break. If they were alive, why have they stayed hidden this long? I don’t understand.” 

“I’m sorry to say I don’t know all the particulars of how, other than what I was told later that night after the battle was over. As I said, they give a wonderful impression of death, even after this many years, because they’ve been under the effects of the Draught of Living Death for the last seven years. I keep them in good shape, but I was told not to wake them until the woman who saved them came back, and as yet, she has not. She did say that someone would come looking for them, however, and assuming you are who she meant, she left a letter for you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just pop upstairs and get it for you.” 

Hermione nodded dumbly, incapable of speech in that moment. They were alive. Sleeping under living death, but alive! She wondered why the living death sentence, and why Andromeda hadn’t been allowed to wake them, but waited patiently for her to return with the letter, hoping it would answer all her questions. 

Only a couple minutes passed and suddenly a letter appeared in front of her eyes. She took it and mumbled her thanks. “I’m going to check on Teddy and give you a few minutes of privacy to read.” 

“Thank you.” 

It was a plain standard letter-sized Muggle envelope, sealed with an unmarked blob of red wax. She broke the seal, pulled out a sheet of good quality parchment with a slightly musty scent to it after having been in Andromeda’s possession for seven years. She unfolded it carefully and began to read. 

_Hermione,_

_I am writing this from your future while I am in the past. You are the one who saves Remus and Tonks, but it will not happen for you for quite some time. Let me explain. I am you, but while I am here, as ever, I am in our disguise as Morgan Stewart to keep from corrupting the timeline._

_Remus and Tonks were fighting together when they were set upon by Dolohov and Bellatrix. As I once did, you will have to ask around and find out the specifics of location and timing so you can make this happen perfectly, but back to the point. Rather than giving them the quick painless death of the Killing Curse, the two Death Eaters cursed them with Severus’ creation – the_ Sectumsempra _curse. They thought, along with the rest of the snake’s followers, that it had no counter-curse, and so left their victims behind to bleed out painfully. Of course, Bellatrix had to get her last dig in and left a silver knife protruding from Remus’ thigh as well._

_They were in dire straits, and had I not been there looking for them, they surely would have actually died the way everyone thinks they did._

Hermione quickly read through the rest of the letter, wherein she had outlined to herself all the steps necessary to save Remus and Tonks. She would have to do many things to ensure it worked, but the letter assured her that the plan was sound and would definitely be successful. 

_After you have done all these things, you will sit down and write this letter and leave it behind for yourself. This is where my part of the story ends and yours begins, Hermione._

_Now for the best part of the news. After the current you has finished reading the letter, you may go with Andromeda – who, by the way, is a truly lovely person and who is nothing like Bellatrix, so give her a chance – and wake Remus and Tonks. She has the antidote but has been told not to give it to them until the mysterious person comes for the letter. She’s been waiting for a very long time, so don’t keep her waiting too much longer._

_I cannot and will not tell you exactly how things go with your Werewolf legislation and the Potion research and development, but what I know I can tell you (because I’ve already been told) is that you should make good use of Remus and his contacts with the Werewolf community. They have been disorganized since the Battle because their Alpha was reported as dead, yet they could still feel their connection to him._

_I’m certain you can work that one out. Now tuck away the letter and go wake them._

_-“Morgan”_

Hermione was filled with joy. There was a lot of work in front of her, but in that moment, she would be able to grasp its effects early. She reached a shaky hand forward and picked up her cup of cooled tea, drinking it down in a couple of gulps. 

A discreet cough brought her eyes up to meet the tear-filled eyes of Andromeda as she stood in the doorway. “Is it … can I…?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Tonks. Let’s go wake them up.” 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a little short again, but I felt like this was a great place to leave off this chapter. I’m hoping that you guys will be more excited about Remus and Tonks coming back and less pissed that I’m fucking with canon again, but the fact that JKR said that these two weren’t meant to die, but that she traded them to keep Arthur Weasley alive in OOTP just bothers me. They could have all lived. 
> 
> Wondering how Remus lived but yet was still able to be recalled with the Resurrection Stone? It’s all going to be addressed next time. I promise.
> 
> My apologies for making you all wait an extra week, but writer’s block is a real bitch. I’m trying to keep to a once-weekly update on Sundays, but sometimes, shit just happens. 
> 
> If any of you are not following me on Twitter and/or Tumblr, you’re missing out. There’s a contest being held to help determine a piece of something that happens way later in the story, so if you’re interested in that, check out my Tumblr and look under the Fic Updates section. It’ll be underneath the link for this chapter. Thank you!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, isn't me.
> 
> Non-writers try and treat writer’s block as though it doesn’t exist and say that we should just push through it. Maybe that works for some people – write until it all makes sense again. It doesn’t work for me. I am still on hiatus, and still fighting this blockage, but hopefully as the inspiration comes, I can still provide you with quality updates to a story that means so much to me. 
> 
> Now, back to Hermione, Minerva, Remus, and Tonks, and the rest of my ever-expanding cast of characters. Enjoy!
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Sound was hazy. There was no light and no darkness. Now and then, something seemed to penetrate, but it never lasted long. Sometimes it felt as though someone’s fingers danced as feathers tickling over skin, but it always ended and all that remained was the endless nothing. Somehow it seemed that there were two people who would have been able to get through and reach the consciousness within, but neither person ever came. They were so alike and yet so completely different, and both had been hidden deep inside the still heart. 

 _Come on. It’s time to wake up. Come back to me._  

 _Oh! There was one of the voices!_ Lungs begged to be filled with air, and a heart wanted so desperately to … 

 **BEAT**  

Lips brushed tenderly over lips. 

 _It’s okay. Wake up._  

 **BEAT**  

 _I’m trying!_ Blood began to move sluggishly with each slow, hard thump of the heart. Skin was turning pink. 

 **BEAT**  

Slowly, air began to trickle into the delicate folds and pockets of the lungs. 

 **BEAT**  

Then, with a rush, they filled. Oxygen began filtering into the sluggish heart, tempting it to 

 **BEAT-BEAT**  

 _That’s it. Breathe. Let that beautiful heart beat. Wake up!_  

 _It’s only beautiful because the two of you are in it._ The heart picked up its pace and the lungs slowly filled and emptied over and over. Blackish-brown eyes started darting back and forth underneath delicate eyelids. One limp hand was picked up and surrounded by warm fingers, and lips pressed against its back. A moment later, those same lips were whispering into a twitching ear. 

 _You’re almost there. Wake up, come on. You can do this. I love you._  

 _Merlin. I love you, too._ There was a low moan sounding from somewhere as heavy eyelids finally drifted upward, fluttering up and down for a moment. Everything was blurry, and there was a rush of movement in the room, voices unclear as they spoke excitedly. They were familiar, but it took a minute for the brain to finish waking itself in the aftermath of seven years of assumed death. Finally, everything clicked into place, and the fluttering eyelids opened all the way, head turning toward where that last voice had been. 

“There you are.” Remus felt his hand being squeezed tightly again, and the corner of his mouth turned up as he looked on the natural face of his wife. 

“Hello beautiful.” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

All over the British Isles, a ripple was felt. Hands were brought up to support suddenly heavy and painful heads. Sensitive noses were awash with the scent of undeniable change. Over a hundred people fell to their knees in an air of forced submission. 

The days of disorganization and confusion were over. He was back. The Alpha was _alive._  

That night, the waxing moon was met with an event unheard for the previous fifty years. It began with a series of low pining howls from the south of England, and was quickly followed with a chorus of every werewolf in the British Magical community yipping and howling happily at the return of its leader. 

Witches, Wizards, and Muggles alike heard the cries and nobody knew what to make of the phenomenon. 

Deep in the Highlands, Minerva had just finished her last rounds of the night, ending on the Astronomy tower to breathe in the brisk night air. She was thinking sadly about Albus and his fall from the tower when the haunting chorus began. Every hair on her body that wasn’t tied back in her tight bun rose to stand on end. There was a certain undeniable power and beauty in the wolf-song, but what did it mean? 

A stray thought crossed her mind, one filled with the ideas of finding something thought long-lost. Her eyes rose to scan over the top of the Forbidden Forest and out over the distant horizon, dimly lit in the sparse moonlight. A single tear fell from each dark green eye. _I miss you so, a rúnsearc. Come back to me, please, or find a way to release me._  

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Andromeda had done an exceptional job at maintaining the basically non-living bodies of Remus and Tonks over the years. She’d done daily muscle massages and stretches on their arms and legs, and when combined with specialized stasis charms and a schedule of rotations to prevent blood from pooling in any one area of their bodies, they woke weak, but able to move far sooner than most would have. 

They woke Tonks first, a quick flick of Hermione’s wand aerosolizing the potion and a whispered incantation forcing it directly from the air into her pores. 

Her consciousness stirred easily with her mother’s voice calling to her in the void, and as soon as she’d regained the ability to move, they’d administered the antidote to Remus in the same manner, allowing Tonks’ voice to be the one to pull him out. 

After sipping at some water and weak broth, they were given a series of potions to address any lingering issues – a strengthening solution, a nutritive potion, and a few others that would ensure their safe return from living death. 

Hermione was happy to see her friends back from their assumed death, but excused herself after hugging each of them briefly, explaining that they should at least have the rest of their Friday to catch up with Andromeda and meet their quickly-growing son. She was given their thanks and slipped quietly from the room. 

Downstairs, she was fastening her cloak around her shoulders in the entranceway when Andromeda appeared silently at her side. Her voice was thick and choked with emotion, but she kept her tears at bay with long years of practice. “Thank you, Hermione. I don’t know what prompted you to begin your research on Lycanthropy now and come to seek out his grave, but in so doing, you have given me back the last of my family, and nothing I ever do will be enough to show my gratitude. 

“I know you must have some things you wish to talk about with them, and we’ll be happy to have you for lunch on Sunday so that you can have your discussion then, but I’d like to give them a couple days without company. They need to reconnect with each other and they and Teddy need to get to know each other before we start bringing in others.” 

“I understand that completely, Mrs. Tonks.” Her lips tipped up slightly, the small smile showing her understanding and acceptance of the enforced distance. 

 “Andy, dear, please.” 

Her smile grew broader and brighter. “Andy, then. I was wondering about Harry. When and how are you planning to tell him?” 

“I hadn’t thought about it yet, honestly. I’m still trying to fit my mind around them being awake again.” 

A devious glint appeared in Hermione’s eyes, one of them twinkling in a manner all too reminiscent of Dumbledore. “I have an idea if you’d permit me, and if you don’t mind two extra guests on Sunday.” 

“I think I see where you’re going. Am I correct in assuming Harry won’t know what’s going on until he gets here?” 

“You are absolutely correct.” 

“Knowing him and Remus the way I do, I think that sounds perfect. I won’t tell Remus and Dora if you don’t tell Harry and Luna.” 

“Cross my heart.” She made an x mark over her heart with her pinky and held it out without thinking. She was shocked when she saw Andromeda make the same mark and reach out to twist their fingers together. 

“I was married to a Muggle-born for many years, raised Dora, and have a seven year old grandson in Muggle primary school. You think I don’t know what a pinky swear is?” She smirked, arching one eyebrow sharply. 

“It never occurred to me, actually.” 

She winked cheekily at Hermione and the two of them laughed, pulling their hands apart. “Well then, we’ll see you on Sunday around eleven?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Andy.” 

The older woman pulled her in for a quick hug. “Until then.” 

Hermione stepped out and closed the front door behind her, tilting her face up into the late afternoon sunshine, its warmth soaking into her cloak and down into her skin. _Who would have thought it? I came to find a way to honor and mourn my fallen friends, and leave having brought them back from death._

It had been a good day. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

She stopped by Diagon Alley on her way home and sent a note via owl post asking Harry and Luna to go eat with her on Sunday. She really hoped they would say yes. She wanted so badly to see the looks on both Harry’s and Remus’ faces when they saw each other. A bright smile lit up her face as she took her time wandering down the Alley and through its shops. 

That evening, Luna’s silvery Hare patronus bounded energetically into her sitting room, nose twitching as it delivered the message that they would be delighted to join Hermione for lunch. 

Hermione slept well that night, head filled with visions of how the reunion would go. 

Saturday found her overcharged, filled with nervous energy from both her own happiness and from the anticipation. She made three full loops of her running route, tripling the distance she had been running, but the exertion worked out a good bit of her excess energy, and when she got back to her flat, she collapsed onto her bed, chest heaving and lungs straining to catch up. Despite the chill in the air outside, she was pouring sweat, and soon her blanket and sheets were as soaked as she was. 

Mustering up a little energy, she dragged herself from the bed and left a trail of sodden clothes on her way to a long, hot soak in the bathtub. By the time she felt up to moving again, the bathwater had grown cold, and she drained it, standing to turn on the shower. As good as the hot bath had felt, just knowing that water was filled with the dirt and sweat she had washed off into it made her feel as though she wasn’t clean. Taking only long enough to wash herself and her hair, she stepped from the tub afterward feeling like a new woman. She towel-dried her hair and pulled it back into a braid, and hung her damp towels from a hook on the back of the door, wrapping a soft robe around herself before heading back out to deal with the sweaty bed and clothes she’d left behind her. 

However, when she stepped back into her bedroom, the trail of clothing was gone, and the previously rumpled and wet bed was clean and immaculately made. Her hand gripped tightly at her wand before she remembered that it was Saturday. 

“Kreacher?” she called out. 

After a moment, he appeared in front of her. “Yes Mistress Hermione? You called for Kreacher?” 

“Were you here to clean while I was in the bath?” 

“Yes, Mistress. It is Kreacher’s cleaning day.” 

“I was going to take care of it once I got out of the bath, but thank you, Kreacher.” 

He snapped his fingers and the bathroom was cleaned. “Is there anything else Kreacher can do for his Mistress this morning? Would she like some breakfast?” He looked up at her hopefully. 

“No, not this morning, Kreacher, but thank you for the offer. Are you just about finished?” 

“Yes, Mistress. Kreacher was just leaving when he was summoned.” 

She smiled down him, passing her hand gently over the side of his weathered face. “Thank you Kreacher, for everything you do for me, as well as for Harry and Luna. I don’t know how we’d all get by without you.” 

“You are welcome, Mistress. It is Kreacher’s greatest pleasure to serve.” He flashed a wide smile at her before snapping his fingers and disappearing. 

She sighed lightly. She knew he was happy in his position, and it was nice to have her home clean with so little of her own effort, but even with the legislation she had helped write and push through, she felt bad about not paying him for the work he did. 

She shook her head to get rid of her morose thoughts, dressing quickly in a pair of comfortable jeans, a long-sleeved tee shirt, and her trainers. She slipped on her Muggle overcoat, a beautiful piece in charcoal wool, reaching midway down her thighs with a double-breasted style. Her wand was placed in her bag, using the interior loops set aside for that purpose, and the bag itself was stuffed into one of the large side pockets of her coat along with a thin Muggle wallet containing her Muggle identification card and a small amount of cash. 

The wind outside tugged and pulled at her hair, a few strands loosening around her face to soften the tight braid. She placed a mild warming charm on her coat and went about getting her weekly shopping done. 

She was nearly finished, and had found a quiet alley, using the solitude to stow her purchases away in the bag in her pocket. Exiting the alley, she found herself on the opposite end, having come out on a street she’d not visited before. It was still a commercial district, but instead of the markets and food stalls she’d seen on the other street, this one was filled with some higher-end shops. A bright and sparkling display caught her eye and she ducked into the small jewelry shop on impulse. 

She looked through the glass cases, glancing wistfully at the engagement and wedding ring sets, hoping to someday have the opportunity to share rings and all they entailed with Minerva. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a narrow doorway on the back wall of the shop with a glittering sign posted above. “If you can see the sign and the door, please enter.” 

She stared for a moment, quizzically studying the sign and the empty doorframe underneath it. Before she could stop herself, her feet started moving and she ducked through the frame, seeing another room filled with more glass cases. 

“Ah welcome!” An overly-polished voice rang out too-cheerfully from behind the counter. Hermione turned her head and saw a man of average height with black hair, liberally sprinkled with grey. He had a large nose and ears, and thin, pale lips surrounded by a hint of five-o’clock shadow. The wide smile plastered on his face looked and felt fake, and though his clothing and general hygiene looked impeccable, she felt a bit oily just being in the same room with him. 

“Err, hello.” She tried to hide it, but the distrust she felt was fairly evident in her speech. 

“No need to hide your magic here, madam. Our Muggle clients are unable to see the door or sign, and are prevented from entering this room. This is a selection of items fit only for our Magical customers.” The smile never faded as he spoke, his voice just a shade deeper than she would have expected by looking at him. “My name is Rufus, and if there’s anything you need, please let me know.” 

“Sure. Thanks.” She turned her eyes away from him and began perusing the items not deemed appropriate for those without magic. The salesman’s unctuousness faded slowly from her perception as her eyes danced from object to object in the cases. There were rings and bracelets, long glittering chains, pendants and brooches, all beautifully worked in a manner that was too delicate, too finely wrought to have been made without the help of magic. There were pieces in all shades of silver and gold, and all of the highest quality. She took slow, careful steps as she moved from case to case, not looking for anything in particular. Her eyes looked over each piece in turn, never staying on anything too long before moving on. 

Then, she saw it. There was a set of perfectly round pendants, each with an outer ring of delicately filigreed Celtic knotwork, and the interior circles held depictions of various animals. Some were all in yellow gold, some were a combination of yellow and white gold, and some had other combinations of precious metals. To one side, she could see a straight edge, and she realized it was a tiny hinge. They were lockets! 

She summoned up her “pureblood” shopping persona and felt her spine snap into perfect alignment, an air of superiority sweeping over her features. “Excuse me, Rufus, was it?” 

He immediately rushed over to stand opposite her behind the display case. “Yes, madam? How can I help you?” She looked down her nose at him, sniffing quietly at the overabundance of cologne that wafted over with him. 

“These animal lockets. Are they available with any animal, or only the ones on display?” 

“We can put any animal you wish in the center, madam.” 

“Let me see that one.” She pointed at one with the combination of metals she liked best. 

He slid the case open from behind and pulled out one of the pendants, placing it in her hand. She opened it, noticing there was plenty of room for a decent-sized photograph to be placed in either half, essentially allowing for two different images to be placed within. The back side was smooth, but at over an inch in diameter, there was plenty of room for a short inscription. An idea bubbled to the forefront of her mind. 

“Is it possible to incorporate two different animals into the same design?” 

“Of course, although it does incur an additional cost, and we offer up to twenty characters to be engraved on the back at no extra charge. We can fit more, if necessary, but the additional work entails additional fees.” 

She nodded carefully. “I’ll take one. I would like a spider and a cat in the front design, and the inscription should read ‘From your Devil with all my love’.” 

He quickly tallied up the characters in his head. “Your inscription is thirty-two characters, madam. Would you like to modify the phrase?” 

She lifted her glance from the pendant and looked down her nose at him again. “I understand that it will cost extra, but the phrase should be left alone. How soon will it be ready?” 

“I can have the work complete within the hour.” 

“Very well. If you could give me an estimate of the final cost, I shall make arrangements for payment while you get to work.” 

“Yes, madam.” 

He slid a ticket across the counter and she nodded to him in agreement. “An hour then?” 

“I shall have it ready for you when you return. One hour.” 

She nodded again and turned to leave the shop. When the cold wind hit her face, she breathed in jaggedly. It would be the perfect gift once she’d added a few charms, but the cost was quite a bit more than she had on hand. Ducking back into the abandoned alley and ensuring nobody was looking, she disapparated with a quiet crack. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Loathe as she was to use her connections as Morgan before she’d lived through her life in that disguise, Hermione needed to access her money if she wanted to afford the locket for Minerva. She apparated quickly into her flat, magically put away her groceries, and pulled a narrow box from the secret compartment of her desk. From within, she retrieved the Apple wand she used as Morgan and the tiny key to Gringotts Vault Number 600. 

She stashed both items in her coat pocket and used her open Floo connection to reach the Wizarding bank. As Morgan, she knew she would be welcomed, but as Hermione, she was still greatly disliked for having broken in and out of the institution in pursuit of a Horcrux during the war. 

Hoping that she had built enough goodwill over the years as Morgan to overcome her own stigma, she asked the nearest clerk if she could speak with Master Ragnok as soon as she arrived. He glared at her, baring his teeth, knowing full well who she was, but was compelled to summon the bank’s President upon anyone’s personal request. 

A few minutes later, the summoned Goblin showed up, looking older than Hermione remembered from the past, but appearing more distinguished as well, his nose having grown in length since she’d last seen him. His voice was low and unfriendly, the words almost growling from his throat. “How may I help you, Miss Granger?” 

“Master Ragnok, I presume?” She smiled warmly at him despite her treatment, knowing it was fully deserved. 

His glare softened just a little at the use of his title, but goblins had a long and fierce memory. “Indeed, I am Ragnok, President of Gringotts Bank. Why have you summoned me? You know you are not welcome in the bank, Miss Granger, after your deplorable actions. You cast an Unforgivable curse on one of our clerks, broke into one of our high-security vaults, withdrew an item which did not belong to you, and stole a valuable security dragon on your way out!” His voice was all quiet fury, not wanting to alert any passing customers to what she had done, but wanting to impress upon her the seriousness of her actions. 

“I did all these things, Master Ragnok, and I can never apologize enough, especially for the cursing of your clerk. I can offer no excuse except that we were trying to rid the world of Voldemort’s presence and rushed into things headfirst, not stopping to consider the consequences. However, Harry and Ron were equally responsible for what happened that day, and both have since been allowed access to the bank again. I was told by a Morgan Stewart that I should come and speak with you and offer a formal apology in the hopes that I may begin reparations.” 

She could see a light enter his dark eyes when she mentioned Morgan, but there was still plenty of distrust to be found in their depths as well. “Madam Stewart has long been a friend to the bank. Her word in your favor would go a long way. We have neither seen nor heard from her in some years now. Is she in good health?” 

“She is in the best of health, Master Ragnok. Is there somewhere more private where we can speak? She gave me a message only for you.” 

“I…” He wanted to refuse her, but if Morgan had truly told her to come speak with him, he knew he could not. “Of course. Please follow me.” He would grant her the opportunity to apologize, but she would not be offered all the comforts and courtesies that Morgan had garnered over the years. His arms remained resolutely at his sides and he stalked his way toward the reception chamber where he had first met Morgan, and later had met with Minerva when she came to set up the drafts. 

Once inside, he waited silently to see what Hermione would do. 

“Master Ragnok, can I trust you with a rather large secret?” 

He blinked, surprised at her question. “On the basis of my friendship with Madam Stewart, I would say yes, Miss Granger. What is this message she asked you to give me?” 

He was gifted with a blinding smile as it beamed from her face. “I knew I could.” She pulled out the Apple wand and quickly cast the series of glamours that would turn her into Morgan before sitting down in the chair she had used in the past. 

“This cannot be possible,” he croaked out, shocked to see his friend, as young and beautiful as she had been when they first met. 

“We live in a wonderful world of Magic, Master Ragnok. Anything is possible.” 

His ears be damned, she even sounded like Morgan. “How?” 

“A time-turner, of sorts, of my own creation which allows longer trips than anyone ever thought possible. I have not lived my entire life as Morgan Stewart as of yet, Master Ragnok, so I am unaware of all of our past interactions, but I recall meeting you in this very room in November of 1946 to open my vault account, and a later visit in the main lobby where you told me that I could always come to you with my business, even if it was something so small and mundane as changing Galleons for Pounds. I can also offer up my wand and vault key to help prove my identity.” 

“No, Madam. That will not be necessary. I also recall you telling me on our first meeting that you wore a series of glamours. I suppose now I know why.” 

“Indeed. May I cancel them now?” 

“Of course.” He watched as a whispered word melted his friend away to the woman previously considered an enemy to the bank and to goblins everywhere. Now treating his friend with the respect she had garnered over the years, he asked, “What can I do for you today? Why reveal yourself now and not before?” 

“I’ve only just begun my trips to the past, sir, so I can’t answer for things I haven’t yet done. As to why I’m here today, I need to access my vault. I need some money for a purchase.” 

“Why did you not use your cheques? As per your suggestion, we long ago set up liaisons that would allow the direct payment of Wizarding funds to Muggle recipients.” 

“I have not yet made it to that point. I don’t have a book of cheques.” 

“Ah, that would be a problem. It has been some years since your last visit, even from our perspective, Madam, and in the interim time, we have also begun to issue, upon request, credit cards that will allow an even more expedient form of payment to Muggle businesses. If you will give me a few moments, I will have a fresh book of cheques brought for you, as well as one of these credit cards.” He grinned at her, showing all of his sharp teeth. “We normally charge for either convenience, however, for the woman who inspired me to institute the idea, there will be no fee.” 

“Thank you, Master Ragnok. I will gladly accept both items.” 

He stood to go make the arrangements, but was halted in his progress when she spoke again. 

“Also, if it’s at all possible, could you find the clerk who was cursed and bring him so I can apologize personally? I know we had our reasons for what we did that day, but I have always felt guilty for the way we went about things.” 

“Certainly. I will return in just a few moments.” 

“Thank you.” 

It didn’t take the bank’s President long to gather the requested items and bring them, along with Bogrod, the goblin who had been Imperiused and mistreated when she and Harry and Ron had broken in. She knelt in front of him, her head down in submission, and apologized. 

He had come into the room unwilling to even contemplate accepting her apology, but there was something in the way she put herself in front of him, completely at his mercy that touched him. There was truth behind her words, and he could sense an unfailing commitment to atone for her actions. No one was more surprised than himself when he spoke with a loud, clear voice and said, “I accept. The air between us is now untainted by our shared past. Rise, Goblin-friend.” 

He wasn’t sure from where the words had come. Neither was anyone else, but Hermione stood and felt a pulse of pure magic spread out from within her, reaching out to touch every goblin under the bank’s employ. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but looking at the slightly bemused but happy faces of the goblins in the room, she thought it best not to mention it. 

She thanked him for accepting her apology and then turned to take the book of cheques and the plastic credit card from Ragnok. He assured her that the cheques would work in both the Muggle and Magical worlds, but that the credit card was still a Muggle-only innovation. The card was in her own name, but the cheques were charmed to show whichever name she needed them to. 

She stuck both items into her Muggle wallet, thanked Ragnok for both his service and for keeping her secret, and took the Floo from the lobby back to her flat. Checking her watch, she found that she’d been gone from the jewelry shop just over an hour. Swearing under her breath, she hurried back on foot and picked up the completed locket, paying with one of her new cheques. Once she got back to her flat, she put her things away and sat on the sofa to admire the workmanship on the pendant. 

The base portion was in standard yellow gold, with the outer ring of knotwork in a pink gold, while the animal insets were in a bright platinum, the white representing the Patronus animals. The spider was set behind the cat, both around the same size. Though an unlikely pairing, the two seemed to almost be nuzzling each other. It was perfect. Turning it over, she read the inscription again. “ _From your Devil with all my love_.” A soft smile took over her face as she traced her fingers over the letters. 

She had never seen the necklace on Minerva, even the few times she’d worn those Oxford shirts with the first few buttons open, and Hermione wondered for a moment if something had happened to it in the past, or if it was just kept hidden. Either way, she was going to put some charms on it and hope for the best. She laid the pendant back into its velvet-lined box, the heavy chain coiling to one side. 

She went into the kitchen and fixed herself a sandwich and a glass of white wine. She set them down on the small dining table and disappeared into her office for a moment, returning with a couple of charms texts to read through while she ate, as well as a small notepad and pencil for taking notes. 

Two hours later, she dropped her Apple wand to the table in front of her, the heavy pendant clanking dully as it fell onto the wooden surface. It was possible that she’d put too much into the protection charms and other spells she’d cast on the locket, but the memory of four red beams of light hitting Minerva’s chest during her OWL exams was enough to convince her that it was necessary. She dragged herself from the table into her bedroom and collapsed weakly onto the bed, her eyes closing as she hit the pillow. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

“Mistress?” 

Her eyes cracked open and then slammed shut at the bright sunshine streaming in through her bedroom window. Her head was throbbing and her mouth felt as dry as a desert. _I didn’t get drunk last night. What on earth is going on?_  

“Mistress? Oh, please wake up, Mistress.” 

“Kreacher?” She croaked out the elf’s name through her parched mouth. 

“Mistress is awake at last! Can Kreacher get anything for her?” 

“Water.” She flipped over onto her back, her eyes still squeezed shut against the sunlight. 

“At once!” He snapped his fingers and a glass of cold water appeared in his hand. “Can Mistress Hermione sit up to drink, or should Kreacher conjure a straw as well?” 

She sat up just enough to be able to drink the water without choking or spilling it and took the glass from him before draining it in one long swallow, the water revitalizing her and soothing the dryness in her mouth and throat. 

“More?” She nodded in response and the glass refilled itself. She sipped at the second glass more slowly, running her free hand over her face several times before she could finally keep her eyes open. 

“Thank you, Kreacher. I appreciate the help, but why are you here?” She took another sip of her water. 

“Master Harry sent Kreacher to see what was keeping you.” 

She glanced down at her watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly eleven on Sunday morning. She was supposed to have met Harry and Luna at ten-fifteen for a short visit before heading to Bristol for their surprise reunion with Remus and Tonks. She was supposed to have them there by eleven sharp, and she had only … ten minutes to get ready and get them there. 

“Shit!” She gulped the rest of the glass of water down and jumped out of bed, feeling a little woozy, stumbling into the bathroom. She yelled back at Kreacher, “Go back and tell them I’ll be there in five minutes and to be ready to go so we won’t be late. Tell them I’m sorry! And thank you again for coming, Kreacher! You’re my hero!” 

She heard a discreet crack as he disappeared, and reached into her medicine cabinet for a Pepper-up potion, downing it in one disgusting gulp. As soon as the steam finished pouring from her ears, she stripped down and cast a quick cleaning spell over herself, dampening her hair so she could tame it with a dab of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, magically putting it into twin French braids. She tied the braids off at her neck using hair elastics, leaving the rest of the length to curl freely down her back in pigtails. 

Thanking Merlin for Kreacher and his Saturday routine, she pulled a nice robe from her closet, relishing in the feel of the soft cream-colored silk against her skin as she pulled it over her head. Stepping into a pair of black pumps that matched nearly anything, she grabbed her Walnut wand and fastened it into her waist holster. Throwing a cloak around her shoulders, she tossed her bag into its inner pocket and took the Floo across town to the CM. 

As she stepped from the fireplace into the library, she felt herself hit with a mild cleaning charm to get rid of the soot, and then before she could prepare herself, she was hit with a flying body as Luna barreled into her side with an aggressive hug. 

“Oof! Err, hi Luna.” She patted lightly at her friend’s back, looking over her shoulder at Harry. He shrugged, an amused look on his face. 

“I’ve long since stopped questioning anything she does, Hermione.” 

“Wise choice, I think,” she replied. 

Luna tilted her head up and placed a short kiss on Hermione’s cheek, following it up with a quiet whisper. “I saw a Healer and I was right, but I haven’t told Harry yet. Still our secret?” 

Her arms tightened around her friend for a brief second before surreptitiously winking in silent acknowledgement. Luna finally let go, and Hermione crossed to give Harry a hug as well. 

“Everything alright? I don’t think I’ve seen you this late for a meeting with anyone since, well … ever.” 

“I was working on some advanced charms yesterday evening and it took a little more out of me than I thought it would. I didn’t wake up until Kreacher showed up. Thanks, by the way, for sending him. I’ve been so excited about this lunch. I’d have been devastated if I’d missed it.” 

Harry chuckled at her. “It’s not as though you weren’t just here Monday night, you know. I’m sure there will be plenty of lunches in our future.” 

“I’m sure you’re right, but this one can’t be missed.” She glanced down at her watch. “And if we don’t go now, we’re going to be late.” She held her arms out, crooking them at the elbows, her hands in loose fists at her chest. “So if you will each please grab an arm, I’ll apparate us to our destination.” 

Luna giggled as she hooked her arm through Hermione’s. Harry just lightly rolled his eyes at her dramatics before following suit. Normally they only apparated in and out of the back garden out of courtesy to the house’s occupants, but as Ron was the only one not going with them, and he wasn’t at home, it was easier to just go from where they were. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to take both of us after what happened?” Harry asked as she brought her arms down, tucking their hands securely against her sides. 

“Of course. I had a Pepper-up, and I’m feeling great now.” 

“If you’re sure, then.” 

Hermione was glad to have friends who loved her enough to be worried, but she was fine. “You both ready?” They both nodded. “Here we go then.” 

She closed her eyes and visualized their destination just down the street from Andy’s cottage. With a smile at what was about to happen, she was filled with a flood of confidence and disapparated with a quiet pop. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

“Wow, Hermione. You’ve gotten better at that.” Harry released her arm as they arrived, stepping back and reaching around her to take Luna’s hand in his. 

“Better at what?” 

“You apparated me and Ron all over the country back then, and I felt ill afterward, every time – though not as ill as I’ve felt with other people taking me side-along – but that was seamless, as though I’d apparated myself.” 

“It was quite a nice experience for once. I was expecting something much worse.” Luna spoke up as well. She had been especially worried about going side-along with the baby, but she felt better after that trip than she did when she apparated herself alone. 

“Really?” Hermione was surprised at the praise. She hadn’t done anything any differently. Perhaps it was that jolt of confidence she’d felt thinking about everyone’s reactions to the coming meeting. “I’ll think about that later. We have an appointment to keep.” She beamed a broad smile in their direction, hardly able to contain her excitement. “Come on, you lot. Let’s go.” 

She set off down the street and Harry and Luna followed behind, visibly confused at the residential neighborhood. They had assumed they were going to a restaurant from the wording of her invitation. As they reached the cottage, Harry recognized it, having been to visit his godson there several times. 

“Um, Hermione? Why are we at Andromeda’s cottage?” 

“This is where we’re having lunch, Harry. Isn’t that obvious?” 

Harry thought there was something curious behind her response and the way she was nearly vibrating with nervous energy, but brushed it off. “Right. Obvious.” 

Hermione raised a hand and knocked confidently on the door, beginning already to unfasten her cloak. It wasn’t as cold as the previous few days had been, and the wind wasn’t biting as sharply. 

The door opened to reveal Andromeda in a similar state as Hermione, and they leaned in to greet each other with air kisses to the cheeks. Harry looked at Luna and she looked back up at him, both of them confused. Harry hadn’t known Hermione even knew Andromeda other than in passing, and if it hadn’t been for her confession to them about her feelings for and relationship with Minerva, they might have thought this was a “meet my lover” meeting. Neither knew what to make of the situation. 

“Come in, come in! Hello, Harry, dear.” Hermione lead the way in, hanging her cloak on a peg. Harry followed her, receiving a kiss on his cheek from Andromeda as he passed. “And Luna, you are positively glowing!” Luna received a similar kiss on her cheek and passed her cloak over to Harry to hang up. 

“Go ahead into the dining room, and I’ll be in momentarily.” 

Still dumbstruck, they followed Hermione into the dining room while Andromeda ascended to the upper floor. The table was set for seven, which further confused the young couple. Hermione took her place at one end of the table and motioned for them to take seats on one of the sides, leaving two seats on the opposite side and two spots around the other end. The other two end settings were clearly for Andy and Teddy, but the others? 

“Hermione, who else is here?” Harry asked nervously. “And why, exactly are _we_ here?” 

“I told you, Harry, you’re here for lunch. As to the other seats… you’ll find out. Now sit!” 

Harry held the seat closest to Hermione out for Luna, then took the other for himself, starting to get a bit cross. After all the important information Dumbledore and other important authority figures had kept from him when he was younger, he wasn’t fond of secrets and surprises. 

“Mum, really. Why do I have to dress so nicely for lunch? It’s not like we have guests.” A strangely familiar voice drifted into the room from the entrance hallway. Wait… Mum? But it couldn’t be…. 

“There’s nothing wrong with dressing nicely sometimes, even for a simple family lunch. I think you look beautiful.” Did Harry know that voice as well? It was almost like … but it couldn’t be! He half rose from his chair, his hands beginning to shake. His vividly green eyes led his head as he looked toward Hermione, who was actually vibrating in her seat by then, her entire face lit up with the brightest smile he had ever seen on her face. 

But it was impossible, wasn’t it? 

“You’d think I look beautiful in a burlap sack, so don’t go thinking that line’s going to work on me.” 

“You would be beautiful in a burlap sack. That’s true, but you’re _stunningly_ beautiful in this dress.” 

He couldn’t fight the impulsive thinking. “Hermione? You … I … am I dreaming? Those are their voices, aren’t they?” His voice broke at the end, and a tear fell from one of those brilliant eyes. 

“Oh, well, if I’m _stunningly_ beautiful, then the line just may work later on.” At that moment, Tonks stepped through the dining room doorway, facing backward, too busy teasing her husband to notice the room’s other occupants. As Remus followed her through the open doorway, they were alerted to someone else’s presence by the loud crashing of Harry’s chair falling when he finished standing, followed by a high-pitched whimper. 

Tonks spun around at the clattering noise, reaching for her wand with the instincts of an Auror. She relaxed when she saw who was in the room, however. “Wotcher, Harry! You went and grew up while we were gone.” 

“Harry?” Remus felt as though he was in a state of suspended animation, again unable to move. In this older version of his friends’ child, he could see so much of James, and there was more of Lily in him than just her eyes. It had become more pronounced as he’d aged, but was still subtle. His ever-messy hair was definitely James, and the nose as well, but around the mouth, it was all Lily. 

“Remus. You’re….” Harry had to force his voice to make an appearance through the tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Not dead.” Tonks interjected, trying to lighten the mood a bit. 

It worked. The tension holding both men in place lifted with her words, and Harry took the few steps necessary to throw himself against Remus, their arms wrapping tightly around each other. 

Happy tears began falling down Hermione’s face as well, and she reached awkwardly for Luna’s hand, trembling until she found Luna grasping for her as well, finding strength and solidarity in each other. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

At four o’clock, Hermione left her friends still getting reacquainted. When Remus and Tonks had “died,” Harry was still, in many aspects, a child. He’d had seven years to grow and mature since then, and he and Remus had to take the time to get to know each other as adults. Luna had never known either of the older two all that well, and her limited experience with Remus had been as his student in her second-year Defense class. 

After the initial shock, they’d been able to sit down and enjoy their meal as Remus explained what he could of how they’d come to be under the influence of Living Death for all those years. When he’d described the woman who had shown up at just the right moment to save both of them, Harry had cut his eyes toward Hermione in an instantly understood wordless “We _will_ discuss this later.” She’d nodded at him and silently mouthed “Later,” which he’d accepted with a nod of his own. That was a conversation she was definitely not looking forward to, but she owed him an explanation of how and why she was able to go back and save Remus and Tonks after having so fervently assured him that she couldn’t do anything like that, and couldn’t even take him to watch his parents’ wedding from a distance. 

Honestly, she was wondered the same thing. The letter from her future self was a little lacking in those details. She needed to do a bit more research into the theory behind time travel. Her assumption was that somehow, they had actually died and there were far-reaching ramifications, which caused her initial trip back, and since saving them, it had become the self-perpetuating loop that she was living. 

But if that were true, she wondered what the ramifications of not saving them had been. And if her theory was correct, she wondered what the motivation had been for that first incarnation of herself to go back as far as the forties. Had it been strictly for Minerva, or had that come about as a side-effect? It was enough to boggle even her well-organized mind. 

She shook the thoughts from her head, concentrating on her meeting with the woman in question. 

Waking the way she had and having to use a cleansing charm instead of a real shower, she was craving the real clean that came from water and soap. She apparated back to her flat and checked her watch again to find that she had just enough time for a quick shower if she wanted to make it to Hogwarts by their regular time. She threw the silk robe on her bed and tossed her underwear into the hamper, but left her hair alone, choosing to only secure the long pigtails to the top of her head to keep them from getting wet, not wanting to redo her hair in the time she had. 

As she showered, she thought about when she might make her next visit with Min. Her Christmas gift was ready to go, and she could find little gifts for the McGonagalls in the past with Minerva to help her make the right choices. Maybe it could be sooner than she had been thinking. She rinsed the soap away and stepped out of the shower, grabbing for a towel and casting a mild warming charm on it. 

She dressed in fresh underwear, and slipped the silk robes back over her head. Back in the bathroom, she released her hair from its hold and made last-minute touch-ups to ensure it looked as good for Minerva as it had for Harry and the rest of their lunch group. Pleased with the outcome, she stepped back into the black pumps, refastened her wand holster in place, and, swinging her cloak back around her shoulders, she disapparated. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Their visit had gone well. Over a pot of tea and a selection of their favorite biscuits, the conversation between them had flowed with an ease that hadn’t been seen since before Christmas. It seemed that they were both beginning to get past the awkwardness of the forced kiss and what had happened after. 

Minerva noticed that Hermione was still a little more hands-on than she had been before, but she found that it didn’t bother her as much as it had. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but decided to just let it go. Clearly the earlier tension between them had been her fault for imagining something there which didn’t exist. 

Hermione was consciously still pushing her boundaries with a little touch here and a light brush of her fingers there, but it seemed that she was finally making progress, as Minerva didn’t appear to mind them anymore. Either she was completely ignoring the existence of the touches, or she was beginning to accept that maybe Hermione was more than the young former pupil that she hadn’t been for several years. 

As they talked, Hermione mindlessly reached for the last ginger newt on the tray at the same time as Minerva did the same. Her fingers took an extra second to caress Minerva’s where they met, laughter breezing from her throat as she suggested they split it. Minerva’s smile was a little tighter than it had been all night when she agreed, but Hermione brushed it off, making a note to lay off a little for a while. 

As Minerva finished her last bite, she swallowed reflexively before giving voice to a forgotten question. “Oh, I meant to ask. Did you hear the wolf-song Friday night? There’s been a lot of speculation as to the origins and significance amongst those who did. Even the Muggles are getting into it.” 

“No, I didn’t hear it myself. I went to sleep fairly early, and it didn’t wake me. I can explain it, however.” A wide smile split her face. She’d forgotten to share the best news yet! 

“Oh? I’d be interested to know.” 

“More interested than you know, actually. Do you remember the conversation we had last week regarding my Werewolf research?” Minerva nodded, taking a sip of tea. “On Monday, I met with a Potions Mistress to discuss making changes to the Wolfsbane – maybe you remember Statira Evans? She left Hogwarts my first year.” 

Minerva nodded again. “Yes, I remember Ms. Evans. Quite intelligent, that one. I’m not surprised to hear she achieved her Potions Mastery. Even Severus used to praise her abilities in his class.” Not to mention a certain resemblance to Morgan that Minerva had noticed. When she’d first showed up to school in 1985, Minerva had nearly had a heart attack at their similarities. She knew, however, that Morgan would never have had a child without telling her, and she’d met the child’s parents and seen enough similarities to both of them to quell her last suspicions. She had been an extraordinary student, though. 

She could feel a different sort of emotion begin to bubble up, listening to Hermione talk about her. Could Hermione be developing feelings for her? She stamped down on the jealousy trying to worm its way into her heart. She had no right to feel jealous. She was in her own relationship! Hermione deserved the chance to find the same with someone else. There could never be anything between herself and her young friend. _Pull yourself TOGETHER, Minerva!_  

Not privy to the struggle going on within her mentor, Hermione continued. “Yes, I can imagine he was pleased to have her in his class. She’s quite brilliant. Professor Stroulger put me in touch with her, and we’re going to work together on the project. Anyway, she mentioned that she’d been working on some minor modifications through her business, Tenper Dabi, but they were having problems getting test subjects to come in, even with the payment they were offered. 

“We were both baffled by this, but over the rest of the week, as I worked on my research, I found that the werewolf population has been rather confused and disorganized since the end of the war, and nobody’s been able to figure out why.” 

Minerva was following Hermione’s rambling conversation, but failed to see what it had to do with the wolf-song. 

“Well, you remember last week, we talked about Remus and Tonks and how we’d never been invited to their funerals? Friday, I went to see Andromeda, as you’d suggested. Imagine my surprise when I asked where they were buried, and she told me that they were, in fact, never buried.” 

“Never buried? Were they cremated?” Surprise wasn’t quite the word to describe Minerva’s fluctuating emotions. 

“I asked the same thing! But no, they weren’t cremated either.” 

“I don’t understand. What happened then?” 

“They were under Living Death, and Friday, Andy and I woke them. They’re alive, Minerva.” 

Minerva’s heart fell out of her chest, and one of her hands rose to cover her gaping mouth. “No! I saw their bodies!” 

“You saw them, as we all did, under the effects of the potion. I took Harry and Luna over for lunch with them today. Andy and I were the only ones who knew. It was a very emotional reunion. Harry’s still there, catching up, or was when I left to come here.” 

“And the wolf-song?” 

“Again, I didn’t hear it, but as Remus is the Alpha, I’m assuming it has to do with him asserting his position after he woke.” 

“Oh. Oh, my. They’re… alive.” Tears began falling. 

“They are.” Hermione knelt in front of Minerva, reaching up to envelop her sobbing friend in her warm embrace. Minerva clung tightly to her, crying happy tears into Hermione’s shoulder. They remained that way for several minutes, Hermione offering warm comfort where it was desperately needed. Finally, Minerva’s tears began to slow, and she moved her head just slightly so that her forehead rested on top of Hermione’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry. I fear I’ve ruined your beautiful robe.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Remember what you told me? Nobody should ever have to cry alone, even if they’re happy tears.” 

Hermione turned her head as Minerva began to pull back, meaning to place a gentle kiss on her cheek in comfort. Minerva turned her head at the same time, however, with similar aim, and their lips met instead. 

Momentarily tired of fighting things, Minerva’s eyes fluttered closed, and Hermione further pressed her boundaries by moving to deepen the kiss, her own eyes closing as well. Their lips moved against each other for mere seconds before Hermione nipped at Minerva’s lower lip, soothing the minor wound with her tongue, begging entrance. Before she could think to deny it, Minerva’s lips parted and their tongues met hungrily. 

A short, high-pitched whimper escaped from Hermione’s throat, and the sound woke Minerva from her stupor. Her eyes flew open and her hands shoved at Hermione’s shoulders, knocking her backward and onto the floor, Minerva rising quickly to her feet, her hand back up at her mouth. 

“Minerva…” 

“No. No. No talking. What in the hell do you think you’re playing at, Hermione? Maybe I haven’t seen Morgan in years, and maybe I get lonely without her, but that doesn’t give you liberty to play around with me like I’m some toy that you’ll use up and toss aside when you find something newer and better! You had no right!” The tears that had slowed were back with a vengeance, and Minerva’s shoulders were shaking. “Leave. Just … leave.” 

“Please, Minerva, I…” 

“No. Leave!” 

Hermione rose slowly to unsteady feet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, gathering her things and leaving as asked. 

Left alone in her sitting room, Minerva’s tears began falling harder, and she made her way to the bedroom door, unable to open it before sliding down to collapse against the heavy wooden door with her side, legs crumpling underneath her. How could she have lost control like that? She was overcome with guilt, loneliness, and grief. 

“Damn you, Morgan. Damn you! Where are you?” 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

How could she have lost control like that? She hadn’t meant to kiss Minerva, much less like that. She’d pushed her boundaries too far. But Minerva had kissed her back, damn it all! Hermione was angry with herself, but she was angry at Minerva as well for not taking her part of the responsibility. Her face began to flush with her anger and with the desire the kiss had stirred up. 

She stalked her way through the corridors, down all the stairs, and all the way down to the gates, her anger and desire kept growing, neither wanting to be denied. Outside the school’s wards, she calmed herself enough to apparate back to her flat. 

Once there, she threw off the silk robe and replaced her clothing with a set from her past collection. A few quick waves of her wand summoned the rest of her things and placed them into her suitcase. She threw open the secret compartment of her desk, stowing away her Walnut wand until she returned, and withdrawing the little box that held her Crystal. She threw it around her neck, grabbed her beaded bag, and with a huff, her suitcase was safely thrust inside its depths. 

In the dining area, she carefully packed up the necklace, shoving it into the bag as well, and then picked up her Apple wand where it had been left on the table the night before. 

Her brain wasn’t quite properly rationalizing her decisions, but somewhere at the forefront of her injured pride, she was thinking that if she couldn’t even kiss the present version of the woman she loved, she would go to the one who would welcome her kisses and caresses. 

She cast her glamours, then took the Crystal in one hand, her wand in the other, and sent herself hurtling back through time to Madam Mairead at the Three Broomsticks with a loudly stated, “ _Ausafr!_ ” 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not recognize Rufus the smarmy jewelry salesman as Rowan Atkinson in his role from “Love, Actually.” I’ve added a bit to the characterization, but he’s definitely the inspiration.
> 
> The Resources website has been updated to include a picture of the locket from which I drew the mental image of Minerva’s Christmas gift. First new image in a while, and it’s a rough approximation, but it might help you picture what I had in mind.
> 
> One last special acknowledgement for this chapter. Thank you so much to Jen (MegaNerdAlert). You all owe this chapter’s completion to her. I had maybe 1500 words written, and then during a conversation with her, we started talking about her recent stories and some story prompts. That discussion is what got my mind back in the writing and creative groove, and the rest of the chapter came together within only a couple more days. I adore you, Jen. Thank you!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which, sadly enough, isn’t me.
> 
> Still officially on hiatus, and still officially trying to finish clearing my block. 
> 
> I just have to say again how much I enjoy reading your speculations on what’s going to happen next. 
> 
> This should go without saying since Hermione’s back in the past, but “Here, there be Dragons.”
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

 _Sunday 20 February 2005, 4:00 PM, Tonks Cottage, Bristol_  

Harry reached for Luna’s hand as he sat back down after having escorted Hermione out. He was elated to be reunited with the last of his parents’ intimate friends, but under the surface, there was anger simmering. He knew Hermione had caught the look he shot her when Remus had revealed who saved them, and her mouthed ‘Later’ wasn’t enough to allow him to completely get rid of his ire. He knew she wasn’t going to be looking forward to their talk, and neither was he, but she had a lot to answer for with him. 

Luna squeezed his hand, drawing him away from his angry thoughts and back to their conversation. He pulled his hand back and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head as she settled into his side, reaching up to take his hand in hers again. 

“So, Harry, I hate to ask potentially awkward questions, but we’ve been gone for a long time, and are still playing catch-up. The last I heard, it was you and young Miss Weasley.” Remus smiled apologetically at Luna. 

Remus’ question further drew him back to the present and away from thoughts of the coming confrontation with Hermione. 

“Oh, no, it’s not so awkward, really. Ginny and I talked it over that summer while we – Hermione, Ginny, and I – were renovating Sirius’ house, and I spent too much time pushing her aside trying to keep her safe from Voldemort. She said she still loved me, but after everything, it was more like I was a seventh brother. She and Neville spent most of that year holed up in the Room of Requirement, and she had started to have feelings for him.” He laughed wryly. “And I guess it wasn’t one-sided. Their wedding won’t be long after ours.” 

He looked over at his fiancée adoringly before continuing. “But it all turned out for the best. When Hermione showed back up from a butterbeer run on New Year’s Eve that year with Luna in tow, announcing _their_ relationship, I took it rather badly and I couldn’t explain why at the time, even to myself. I think Ron assumed it was because I had some deeply-hidden feelings for Hermione, but she’s my sister in all ways except where genetics are concerned. It took me a couple of years before I allowed myself to get over Ginny’s rejection and her subsequent happiness with Neville, but by chance one day, I ran into Luna and everyone else just … disappeared. I finally understood what had so unsettled me that night. It wasn’t that either of them were with another woman, because that never crossed my mind. It was only that Hermione had unknowingly taken the other part of my soul away from me.” 

“She never took me away, Harry, love.” Luna reached her free hand up to caress his cheek lightly. “I only borrowed her for a bit. We were both destined for other people. I just didn’t know at the time who. Now I do.” 

“You two are sickening. Honestly.” 

“Don’t think I don’t remember some of your antics over Remus, _Nymphadora_.” 

“You take it back, Harry Potter. Take it back!” 

“I will not!” An impish glint appeared in his eyes. “You know, _Nymphadora_ , I’ve now been an Auror longer than you. Doesn’t that make me your superior or something?” 

“Never, Potter! I don’t care that you were the bloody chosen one, you will never be a better Auror than me! And take it back! You know better than to use that name.” 

Luna sighed quietly and curled further into Harry’s chest as he and Tonks continued their playful argument, Harry choosing to accentuate her first name at least once in every sentence. 

“Tiring to listen to at times, aren’t they?” Remus’ soft voice somehow cut through the din his wife was helping to create. 

“A bit, I suppose, but I wish he would act like this more often. Merlin knows he never had the chance when he was younger, between those horrible people who raised him and Dumbledore and Voldemort’s combined machinations.” She turned to face the last of the legendary Marauders as she spoke. 

“That’s true enough. I wish I could have – would have – done more for him, but it’s always been all I could do to keep myself fed and clothed over the years. Love aside, I doubt I would have been much better than Petunia and her husband, who at least put a roof over his head.” His dark eyes were shadowed and haunted by his past, something Luna understood all too well. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much. He doesn’t blame you and never has.” 

“Still. If things had gone differently with Sirius and Peter, I’ve no doubt that between the two of us, Sirius and I could have given him a vastly different childhood.” 

“You… you loved him very much, didn’t you?” 

Remus had been staring intently at the floorboards and Andy’s floral rug, but at Luna’s quiet observation, his gaze shot up to stare at her intently. “I… how do you…?” He shook his head lightly. He should have remembered that for all her quirks, Miss Lovegood had always been extremely observant, even when she was twelve and in his second-year Defense class. 

“Yes, very much. I think I quietly loved him for years, and maybe he felt something as well then, but in school – and just after – he played the part of the ladies’ man, and he did it quite well. He and James teased me and Peter both mercilessly for our monk-like ways, but I don’t think either of them ever realized that my love for Sirius was the reason behind my choices, and that Lily’s oldest friend had been the reason behind all of Peter’s. I think, in the end, that Severus was the reason Peter betrayed everyone the way he did. He was trying to impress him by going Dark, not knowing that by allowing Lily to die, he was taking away any positive connection he might have later formed with Severus. 

“The public story is tragic enough, but from the viewpoint of someone on the inside of it all, it’s so much more than anyone knows.” 

The room filled with silence, the conversation between Remus and Luna having stopped Harry and Tonks’ playful bickering. Harry was absorbing what Remus was sharing with them, shocked at the supposed reasons behind Peter’s duplicity. Was that truly what caused the rift between them? Another unhealthy obsession involving Snape? 

Unaware of the added attention he’d drawn from the rest of the room, Remus continued. “After everything that happened, I was left alone in the world. James and Lily were dead because of Sirius’ betrayal, Peter supposedly killed with all those Muggles at Sirius’ hand, and Sirius himself locked away for the crimes. I had nobody and nothing. My father was still alive then, but I didn’t dare bring my problems to his doorstep, and so I wandered for years, doing odd-jobs and only staying in one place for a couple months at a time to help ward off the suspicions of my condition. I was so happy when Albus found me and offered me the teaching position, even knowing it couldn’t last more than a year, because I knew I would be teaching Harry and would have the chance to get to know my friends’ child. Then Sirius broke out of Azkaban, and I was so conflicted. On the one hand, I wanted to be happy that my friend was free, but at the same time, I believed that he’d done what they’d said. 

“When the truth was revealed and Sirius went into hiding at Grimmauld Place, I went with him. I finally told him how I felt, and he disappeared into his room for a night – and the next morning as well. When he finally came down, he said that he’d been searching his soul and that he felt the same way as I did. Maybe he always had; he didn’t know, but in that moment, it was everything. I thought I would die from happiness. We weren’t given long, but we were so happy in those brief moments. Dora… she reminds me of him sometimes with her exuberance and vivacity and the way they both have such joy for life. I love her just as much as I ever loved him. It may be a different sort of love, but it’s just as brilliant and intense.” 

He inhaled sharply at the memories and the pain they dredged up, still unaware that Harry and Tonks were listening. “In the days since we were woken up, I have this vague sort of memory that has to be false, but I can’t seem to shake it. I was in the Forbidden Forest, and all the stiffness and pain I normally feel was gone. Sirius was there, and James and Lily, and we were walking with Harry, and there was this sort of sadness because something was supposed to happen when we finished walking, but I was also so, so happy to be back with my friends. It’s something that could never have happened, you see? But I remember it. I can’t make it go away.” 

“That’s because it did happen.” Harry spoke up. “You and Sirius and Mum and Dad. I had the Resurrection Stone and I was on my way to Voldemort. You all came and spoke with me when I turned the Stone and gave me comfort and the strength to keep going. I was the Horcrux he never intended to make, and I had to die myself at his hand to get rid of it and ensure that he could be killed.” 

“That actually happened then. I’d wondered. I suppose when they say Living Death, they mean it. I shouldn’t have been able to be recalled with the Resurrection Stone, but I guess Living Death or actual Death doesn’t matter to such a powerful relic.” 

“I may not understand why or how it happened, Remus, but I’m glad you’re back.” Harry spoke quietly, tightening his hold on Luna. 

“So am I, Harry. So am I.” 

Tonks crossed the room to sit on the edge of Remus’ chair, one arm wrapped tightly around his back, the other running up and down his arm in a gentle gesture of comfort and love. 

The room was silent for several minutes, both couples taking quiet solace in each other. Finally someone broke the silence, and they returned to the companionable conversation they’d been having before Hermione had left. Tonks eventually turned and slid her way down to sit in Remus’ lap, keeping one arm around him, her hand never stopping in its soothing motions on his back. 

Neither Harry nor Luna missed the affectionate gesture, but after hearing the brief account of his life in the eighties and early nineties and how miserable it had been, neither would dare comment on or make light of the love he had found with Tonks. 

Hours later, when Harry and Luna had finally gone home, Remus and Tonks headed up to bed, stopping to look in on Teddy for a minute on the way. Lying next to each other a few minutes later, his strong arm around her, Remus spoke softly. “He’s grown into a fine man, hasn’t he?” 

“He really has. I always knew he would, though.” 

“James and Lily would be so proud of him, Dora. And Sirius… gods, you should have heard him talk about Harry as though he was Merlin reborn. I hate that Harry didn’t get more time with them.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Did it bother you, hearing me talk about Sirius?” 

“No. People are fully capable of loving more than one person in their lives, my dearest wolf-man. You loved Sirius and he loved you, and I’ll never change that, nor would I want to. I know you love me just as I love you. What we have may be different from what you two shared, but it’s no less beautiful or lasting.” 

“I do love you, you know. I always will.” He spoke quietly. 

Several seconds passed. “But … Dora? The next time you call me your wolf-man, I’m going to use your full name for a week.” 

She giggled as she snuggled deeper into his side, and they fell asleep shortly thereafter, both sporting silly grins. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

 _Thursday 12 December 1946, 11:00 PM, The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade_  

Mairead Òstairean had just left the counter to her employees and slipped into her long cotton nightgown when she heard the distinctive cracking sound of apparition coming from the kitchen outside her private rooms. Throwing a dressing robe over her sleepwear, she stopped to check on Rosmerta on her way out to see what was going on. 

She stepped out the door just in time to see Morgan collapse on her kitchen floor, muttering something extremely vulgar on the way down. In her time as a bartender and innkeeper, she had heard some colorful phrases, but this one outshone most of them by a good bit. Smiling and shaking her head, she levitated the woman she’d quickly come to call friend and brought her in to her own spare bed, as the room she normally used was already rented out for the night along with the rest. She was fully booked with Holiday traffic, but Morgan wasn’t just any old customer, and she trusted her to not take advantage of the hospitality. 

She tucked the unconscious redhead into the narrow spare bed before crossing the room and climbing into her own bed, laying the dressing robe across the foot before dousing the lights and succumbing to sleep herself. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Morgan woke around two in the morning, disoriented and in an unfamiliar place. She cast a dim _Lumos_ and saw Madam Mairead sleeping soundly, realizing then where she was. She conjured a scrap of parchment and left a quick note thanking the innkeeper for her hospitality on the nightstand next to her wand. As she crept out quietly, she passed Rosie’s crib and returned the toothy grin shining at her from inside. 

“Mo’gan! Hi Mo’gan! You back!” 

“I am, my precious girl. But shhh, we don’t want to wake Mummy.” Short arms stretched out, reaching for Morgan, and she picked the toddler up, returning the tight hug she received. Rosie peppered her cheeks with childish kisses, and the two of them giggled quietly. 

“Alright, sweetheart, it’s time for you to go back to sleep and for me to go.” Sensing the beginning of a good whining session, Morgan cut it off with a simple promise. “But if you can do that and let me do the things I need to, I promise I’ll be back in a few days with some Christmas presents for you and Mummy. Do we have a deal?” 

“Presents? Yes. Deal.” She gave Morgan another tight hug around the neck and a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek before being set back down into her crib. “Don’t forget, Mo’gan. Presents. You promised.” She yawned widely, lying down and allowing Morgan to tuck the blanket around her. 

“I do promise, Rosie. Now go back to sleep, and I’ll be back in a few days.” 

Rosie yawned again, eyes fluttering closed. “’Night Mo’gan. Love you.” 

“I love you, too, baby girl. Sweet dreams.” Her words were met with a quiet snore, and she finished sneaking along until she was outside. Concentrating on the alley that ran alongside Minerva’s building, she apparated away. 

Upon reaching her destination, she made her way in and up, wandlessly and non-verbally unlocking and relocking all the doors along the way. After gaining entrance to Minerva’s flat, she quickly deposited her things in the spare bedroom, undoing the twin French braids from her hair and tying it back into her usual sleeping plait. Foregoing her pajamas, she stole quietly into Minerva’s bedroom and pulled back the covers, grinning wickedly as she vanished Minerva’s long nightgown. She slid into the warm bed and pressed herself against Minerva’s back, relishing the feel of their skin sliding together. Morgan pressed a tiny kiss at the top curve of her spine and wrapped her arms securely around the sleeping form of the woman she loved. 

She was finally home again. 

Minerva stirred lightly, whispering Morgan’s name in her sleep and cuddling back into her lover’s warm frame. She was hovering on the edge of awareness, but Morgan whispered softly into her ear for her to go back to sleep. She grabbed hold of one of the arms surrounding her, twining their fingers together and tucking their joined hands into her chest, and immediately gave in to Morgan’s urgings, dropping back into a satisfied sleep. 

“Oh how I love you, Min.” Morgan whispered into the stillness of the night, quickly following Minerva to their dreams. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva woke in the early dawn to the sound of raindrops pattering against the windows. Remembering that it was Friday and that she had nowhere to be, she snuggled deeper into her bed, glad she didn’t have to get up any time soon. She raised the hand in hers to press a soft kiss against the fingers and felt arms squeeze her in return, her sleepy mind rationalizing it as a dream response to the nearly constant need she felt for Morgan. 

Her dream lover trailed a series of small kisses from her hairline down her spine, turning to run along her shoulder. Indulging in the dream state, she moaned lightly as she pressed the hand she was holding into her bared breast, her nipple pebbling instantly under the touch. 

“Aren’t we needy this morning?” Her dream spoke into her ear with its low sexy voice, and she shuddered. 

“Always need you,” she murmured sleepily. 

She could almost feel the chuckle from behind her, and the breasts against her back moving with laughter began building a familiar fire on her skin. “Well, let it never be said that I failed to satisfy my sexy witch.” This was the most realistic dream she’d ever had, as dream-Morgan’s hand released itself from her hold and drifted down between her thighs. Warm fingers dipped into her heat, and she inhaled sharply as they found the center of her desire and teased it mercilessly, coaxing little noises from her throat, some forming nonsensical words as they escaped her lips. The fire that had begun on her back was furiously stoked with the contact. 

Lips and teeth pulled lightly at the bottom lobe of her ear, while the teasing movements grew harder and more frenzied as she came closer and closer to the edge. The blazing fire exploded from within as she trembled with the force of her orgasm, Morgan’s name spilling from her lips with a sob. 

Minerva turned onto her back, still panting, and Morgan captured her lips in a deep and thorough kiss. When she pulled back to allow both of them a chance to breathe, Minerva’s eyes finally drifted open, expecting her dream to fade, leaving her with nothing but a plain white ceiling to stare at. What she found instead was the warmth of brown eyes made darker from their passion, the sides crinkling upward as Morgan smiled. 

“You’re actually here. That wasn’t a dream.” 

“Not a dream, my darling girl.” 

Minerva reached up, wrapped her arms around Morgan’s hovering torso, and pulled her down for another long, deep kiss. 

Several minutes passed before they again parted for air. “I missed you, _a diabhal_.” She ran her fingers along the sides of Morgan’s face. 

“I missed you, too, Min.” She rested her forehead against Minerva’s, nuzzling their noses together. “So, so much.” 

The rest of their morning was spent showing each other how much they’d missed each other and affirming the love they felt. It was early in the afternoon before either of them spared a thought for leaving the bed, and then only did so because they could no longer ignore the other pressing needs of their bodies. 

Morgan got up first, then wrapped herself in a robe and disappeared into the kitchen while Minerva took her turn with the bathroom. There wasn’t much, as Friday was Minerva’s normal shopping day for the week, but there was enough for a couple rudimentary sandwiches, with tea to drink. Rain or no rain, they would have to brave the elements for food supplies some time that day. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she stood in front of the sink and watched as fat raindrops splattered relentlessly against the window and slid slowly down to pool briefly at the bottom before running off the brickwork and continuing their path to the ground. 

She’d been staring thoughtlessly for only a couple minutes when she felt arms wrap around her waist and Minerva placed a quick kiss to the tender spot behind her ear before nestling her head on Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan leaned into the embrace, closing her eyes and resting her arms along Minerva’s, twining the fingers of both hands together. 

Morgan compared this younger affectionate Min to the older Minerva who had thrown her out angrily the night before. They were so different in so many ways, but yet were so damnably similar. A flash of the long list of trips in their futures appeared behind the closed lids of her eyes. There were so many left, and this was only her third foray into the past. A quick calculation made her breathe in jaggedly. Sixty years of flitting in and out of Minerva’s life, bringing as much pain and heartache with her as she brought joy and love. She didn’t know how she was going to make it. Having Harry and Luna to talk to would doubtlessly help her through the worst times, and there was the still overwhelming happiness over Remus and Tonks, but while trying to keep up with her own modern life, it was going to take her far too long to make all the trips she was supposed to make and still manage to keep all her necessary secrets. 

“Penny for your thoughts.” 

The words were whispered softly, warm breath puffing over her ear, banishing the maudlin thoughts and bringing her back to the warm and loving woman behind her. 

A smile ghosted over her features as she rejoined with, “You think my thoughts so cheap as that? Only a penny?” 

“Oh, I think they may be worth as much as a farthing, actually.” 

“Why, Min. I didn’t know you were so cruel. I’ve gone from a penny to only a fourth of one? I’m thinking I may be forced to charge you vastly more after that insult.” She huffed playfully. 

“Oh, aye? And how much do you reckon your thoughts are worth, _a diabhal_?” 

Morgan opened her eyes and turned in the embrace, bringing her arms up and over Minerva’s head to rest on her shoulders, hands joined behind her neck. “How about I charge you a kiss? For one of your kisses is worth more than all the diamonds and rubies in the world.” 

Minerva’s arms tightened in response, bringing them flush against each other, mouths only a couple of inches apart. “I’d give you all the rubies and emeralds and diamonds for one taste of your lips, Morgan.” Their noses nuzzled against each other. “And for your thoughts, I’d give you everything.” 

“Merlin but I love you, Min.” Their lips met and slid against each other sweetly for only a moment before the kettle began to whistle, breaking them apart. “Go sit. I’ll be in with the food in just a minute.” 

“If you insist,” Minerva sighed. She stepped around the counter into the small dining room and took her seat at the table. Just a couple of minutes later, Morgan came around with the tea and sandwiches on a large tray, and set everything out. They had their lunch, passing conversation about what Morgan had missed while she was gone. 

“Are you going to be here through Christmas?” Minerva asked as she polished off the last bite of her sandwich. 

“I’ve got a couple of weeks, so yes, I’m all yours.” 

“I had an owl from Mum the other day. You made quite the impression on her and Dad last month. She said that if you were here with me and had nowhere else to go, you’re welcome to spend it with us. We’re going to be celebrating Malcolm’s birthday at the same time. But if you don’t want to, you needn’t feel pressured to go. I could pop up there long enough to exchange gifts and come back instead of staying the two nights I was planning on.” 

Morgan felt honored by the invitation. She hadn’t known what to expect for their first Holiday, but it certainly hadn’t included this easy acceptance into her family. “No, I’ll be happy to go with you. I … I quite like your family. I hope the impression I made was a good one.” 

“It was perfect. I think they’re all quite enamored of you, including Dad. Of course none of them are quite as enamored as I am.” 

“Well, I should hope not. My eyes see only you.” 

“I seem to suffer the same affliction.” 

“First my thoughts are worth only a farthing, and now I’m an affliction? You certainly know how to bolster a woman’s ego.” 

“I think your ego doesn’t need much bolstering.” Her green eyes flashed mirthfully as she stood and rounded the table to sink onto Morgan’s lap, one leg on either side of the chair, feet just reaching the floor, shamelessly exposing herself through the now-parted robe. “Or does the Devil need constant reminders that she’s beautiful and talented and an absolutely brazen temptress?” Morgan’s hands reached up to perch on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling them closer together. Minerva wrapped her hands around the top of the chair’s back, using the leverage to help her grind her hips downward, the desired contact hampered by the folds of Morgan’s robe. 

“I may need,” Morgan gasped lightly as Minerva’s heat penetrated the thin fabric of her robe, the pressure filling her with need and unadulterated want, “periodic reminders that I am all of those things from my sexy,” she leaned her head forward to nip delicately at one of the exposed nipples hovering in front of her, “sensual,” she used the flat of her tongue to blaze a hot trail across the hardened tip of the other breast, “succulent,” she returned to the first breast and pulled it into her mouth with a firm pressure before releasing it with a soft pop, “and utterly perfect,” she pressed her lips into the valley between Minerva’s begging breasts, “hellcat.” 

Minerva swooped her head down and captured Morgan’s mouth with her own, passionately kissing her for several minutes while continuing to grind their hips together, the friction creating frissons of desire to curl up her spine before rushing back down to build up the pool of delicious heat low in her belly. Morgan’s hands began to knead her fleshy cheeks, and Minerva’s repetitive movements were having the effect she had been seeking as the sides of Morgan’s robe began to part, each downward thrust of her hips then bringing their wet centers almost in direct contact. 

Groaning into their kiss, Morgan spread her legs wider, allowing Minerva to sink deeper, their engorged clits meeting with each plunge of Minerva’s hips, causing them both to hiss and break apart their kiss, panting with their need for oxygen. Minerva threw her head back, mumbling a stream of incomprehensible words, and Morgan locked her lips on the quickly beating pulse point at the base of Minerva’s neck, sucking with a fierce pressure as their hips kept pounding against each other, bringing her ever closer to the brink. Their bodies were both on fire, the cool, damp air in the flat unable to penetrate the blistering heat they were generating in their lustful endeavors. 

Minerva’s litany of verbiage was ratcheting higher and higher in pitch the closer she came, and as the growing pool in her belly released itself to flush her body with release, she screamed loudly, her thrusts becoming harder and less fluid, the jerking movements enough to send Morgan barreling into her own orgasm. In her fierce whimpering, she forgot herself and what she was doing, biting down hard on the flesh she had been suckling, causing another tremor to follow behind the first, Minerva’s scream quieting down before shouting quickly with the last aftershock brought on by the bite. 

She slumped forward against Morgan, burying her face in the long red tangles of her hair, Morgan’s arms reaching up from their previous position on her bum to help support along her back, fingers raking through raven locks. A moment passed in the boneless embrace before Minerva’s head rose just enough to stare into Morgan’s passion-darkened eyes. “You bit me, and _I’m_ the hellcat?” 

Morgan chuckled breathlessly, still recovering from the force of their lovemaking. “I’m already the Devil incarnate, Min.” She quickly pecked a kiss on Minerva’s swollen lips. “Don’t I deserve a hellcat in my bed?” 

“Maybe you do, at that.” She buried her head back in Morgan’s neck. “I think this hellcat might just be unable to move after that, though.” 

“Can’t move, you say?” A devilish glint appeared in her dark brown eyes. “Are you sure about that?” 

“Mm. Quite sure.” She nuzzled her nose into the hollow behind Morgan’s left ear. 

“I don’t know about you, but I need a shower. Since you can’t move from my lap, you’ll just have to come with me.” 

A feeling of unease passed through Minerva’s mind at the comment, but she shoved it aside, warm and content in her position. Morgan’s arms tightened around her back, and a quiet crack later, the two women were a tangle of limbs seated in the bathtub, their robes left behind in the dining room. 

“What… Morgan, what did you do?” 

A whispered word had the shower turned on the perfect temperature and the spray of water began pouring itself over Minerva’s back. 

“I told you I needed a shower, Min. I even told you that you’d have to come with me. Weren’t you listening?” 

Minerva scrambled to her feet, wiping water from her face before it could get into her eyes. “You … you apparated us into the bath?” 

Morgan stood in front of her, some of the water managing to find its way to drip down her skin. “I did. Now come on. We both need showers after the morning we’ve had, and there’s shopping to do afterward. You do want to eat this week, yes?” 

Minerva could only sputter her agreement, and they helped each other wash up before stepping from the tub and drying with towels warmed by a quick charm. Knowing they would just get wet again while out for the shopping, neither bothered fully drying their hair. Minerva pulled hers back in her signature braid, and Morgan chose a single French braid for hers, knowing that with its tendency to frizz, the tighter plait would be the better choice for keeping it tamed in the weather. 

After getting dressed in sensible clothing for the wet outside, they went out and got their errands run, conversing cheerfully with the merchants Morgan had gotten to know so well on her last trip as they picked up enough food to last a full week. The rest of the cold, rainy weekend was spent inside the flat, much in the same way as Friday. Both women were insatiable after having been apart for a couple of weeks, still very much in the early “newlywed” stage of their relationship. 

Minerva had been given two weeks off from her studies by her Master Ashmole, and over the course of their first full week together, unhampered by Minerva having to leave every day for her Apprenticeship, they grew even closer, their intellectual intimacy beginning to catch up to the level of their physical intimacy. The physical side of their love had developed very quickly, and while the love they felt was genuine, the fact remained that apart from what Morgan knew of Minerva from her future self, they didn’t know each other very well at all. A full, uninterrupted week together was exactly what they needed to remedy that. 

Minerva let Isobel know that Morgan would be joining them for their three-day celebration, and the older woman replied, delighted to hear of the addition to their party. 

That Friday, the 20th, they bundled up against the cold and went out shopping for Christmas gifts. Minerva had already gotten all of hers done, but went along with Morgan to help her choose appropriate gifts for her family. Minerva was surprised at the limits of her lover’s generosity, especially as it seemed that there were no limits to it at all. She had to talk Morgan down from several gifts that would have been vastly over-extravagant. They picked out a special gift for Malcolm since it would be doubling as both birthday and Christmas gift for him, and Minerva was very pleased with it and with the charms Morgan later applied to it. 

Isobel, Robert, and Rob each were given a smaller gift than what Malcolm would receive, but each was bought thoughtfully and with love and respect for each recipient. Morgan also surreptitiously picked up another small gift for Minerva, knowing that the necklace wouldn’t be appropriate to give in front of her family. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

The next day was the Winter Solstice, Yule, and as it was the older and more magical of the December holidays, Morgan thought it the perfect time to give Minerva her real present. 

She prepared Minerva’s favorite meal for dinner, and sent her in for a long bath, trying to keep the secret as long as she could. While Minerva was luxuriating in the hot bath, Morgan transfigured a couple spare butter knives into silver candlesticks, and topped them with long white candles. She made sure the fireplace was crackling merrily, and turned the Muggle wireless to a station playing soft music. Everything was ready for a super romantic dinner, and she was just waiting for Minerva to finish her leisurely soak before putting the final touches together. 

Morgan went back into the kitchen and stirred the contents of the bubbling pot, inhaling the aroma and swallowing reflexively as her mouth began to water. From the bathroom, she heard the sound of the water draining, and tensed up. A couple of minutes later, Minerva walked out of the bathroom, drying at her hair with a towel as she headed into the bedroom to get dressed. “That smells wonderful, Morgan. I can’t wait to dig in. I’m starved!” 

As soon as Minerva was in the bedroom, Morgan whirred into action, lighting the candles, dishing out their dinner and setting the table, pouring them each a glass of red wine, and setting the bottle nearby for refills. By the time Minerva came out, dressed in loose trousers and one of her oxford shirts, her hair free and flowing around her shoulders and down her back, Morgan had everything ready. 

The candles and the steaming bowls of beef stew were set, not at the dining table, but on the low coffee table in front of the fire. The box containing the locket was cleverly hidden away where Morgan could easily get to it, but where Minerva wouldn’t spot it before it was time. 

She herself was dressed somewhat similarly, having stolen one of Minerva’s comfortable oxford shirts, but instead of the trousers Minerva had put on, Morgan had chosen to let the long shirt serve as her only article of clothing, but for a lacy pair of more modern knickers than she had been wearing. Her hair was also left mostly down to curl down her back, only the sides pulled up and held with a couple of bobby pins.  

As Minerva caught sight of Morgan, sitting almost casually in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, she temporarily forgot to breathe. The firelight was playing on the exposed skin of her legs, and bouncing off the fiery curls spilling over her shoulder. She was the singularly most beautiful, most desirable, sexiest woman Minerva had ever seen. And she was all hers. A possessive streak shot through her heart, and she wanted to growl _MINE_ at Morgan, then lay her down in front of that fire and show _her witch_ that the claim had been made and she would never belong to anyone else. She fought the impulse, however, and finally remembered to breathe as she calmed down. 

“Is that my shirt?” 

Morgan looked down at the crisp white fabric and picked at it thoughtfully. “You know, I think it just may be yours at that. Do you mind?” Her eyes fluttered half-shut as she looked coquettishly over at Minerva’s nearly-vibrating form. 

“I… no. You’re my girl and you’re wearing my shirt and sitting in my chair in front of my fire, and I couldn’t be happier.” She stepped closer to the relaxed woman. “My things belong together.” 

Morgan stood up, swaying sensuously as she approached Minerva. “So I’m one of your possessions?” 

Minerva moved closer, and they met at the edge of the sofa, her voice lowering and picking up a gravelly overtone as she growled, “Yes. Mine.” 

“Yours. Always, Min, always yours.” 

They kissed insistently for several minutes, hands burying themselves in loose strands of hair and roaming to caress and tease the tender spots they’d learned of each other’s bodies. Finally, Morgan broke off the contact and pulled back. “This is something we’ll finish later, my darling, but for now, we need to eat before the stew gets cold. Yes?” 

Minerva was breathing jaggedly, still enchanted by her possessive streak. “Very well. We will finish it though.” The images of Morgan laid out on the rug in front of the fire wouldn’t leave her mind, and she was determined to make them real. 

Morgan led her over to the coffee table, and they sat next to each other on the floor. They enjoyed their meal, interspersing bites of stew and sips of the rich wine with genial conversation and soft touches and caresses. When the last bits of stew had been sopped up with crusty bread, Morgan leaned back against the sofa, one leg outstretched and the other bent so that her wrist rested on it, swirling the wine around her glass. Her other arm curved invitingly along the seat of the sofa, and Minerva took the invitation, leaning against the sofa and Morgan’s open side, curling her legs under herself. The food and wine had served to mellow her possessive mood somewhat, but it was still swimming around the back of her mind, waiting for the right provocation to come roaring back out to assert itself. 

“Are you happy, Min?” The question was followed by a quick sip from her wineglass. 

“I like to think I am.” 

“With me, I mean.” 

Minerva’s brow crinkled up. “Where is this coming from Morgan?” The questions confused her after the perfect week they’d had, and the intimately romantic dinner that Morgan had prepared for her. 

“Are you happy with me? Do I make you happy?” Minerva couldn’t glean any emotion from Morgan, who was watching the swirling wine in her glass, her right hand draped around her shoulder, playing idly with a strand of her hair, weaving it in and out of her fingers. 

“Of course I’m happy with you. Have you gone daft, woman? I may wish you were here more and that your work didn’t call you away so often and for so long, but I love you and you make me happier than I ever thought possible. Now where is this coming from?” 

Morgan tilted her glass and drained it of the rich red liquid before reaching forward to set it back on the table. “Just my own insecurities, Min. I’m sorry I can’t be here with you more, but I’m about to be sent on a longer mission than I’ve been receiving. My boss has been taking it easier since my head injury in October, but when I leave this time, it may be several months before I can return. I’m just,” she sighed, “I’m just worried that when I do manage to come back to you, you will have decided that I no longer make you happy.” 

Her knowledge of future Minerva gave her a certain amount of confidence that this wouldn’t be the case, but knowing that Minerva would participate in the kisses she’d shared with _Hermione_ while not knowing that Hermione and Morgan were the same person were fuelling the uncertainties that came naturally in the early stages of a relationship, especially in one which had begun so quickly. She also needed to get Minerva used to the idea that she wouldn’t be present every couple of weeks as she had been thus far. 

“Do you think my emotions so fickle? That I would suddenly throw you over because your job keeps you away from me for a while?” Minerva felt a little betrayed by Morgan’s insecurities. Surely she knew how Minerva felt about her by now. Hadn’t she taken every opportunity to tell her? To show her? “The first time we kissed, you said I’d ruined you for anyone else, _a rúnsearc_. Don’t you realize you’ve done the same?” 

“I do know you love me, Min, and I love you. I never expected to fall in love with you, but to have fallen this far and this deep and this _quickly_ is just a little much for me to take in at times. I don’t think your emotions are fickle at all, nor do I truly think you’d fail to take me back after I have to leave for work. I think sometimes that I love you too much for my own good.” 

Morgan’s words soothed the injury she’d made before, and Minerva could feel a rush of warmth flood her body at the admission of just how deep Morgan’s feelings had gone. She lightly kissed Morgan’s cheek, wordlessly telling her that it was okay. She understood. Morgan held her free left hand out, and a blue velvet box flew from across the room to land quietly in it. Anticipation caused Minerva to tense up slightly, wondering what was in the box. 

“When I leave this time, Min, I won’t be able to come back until probably June. And I got this gift for you for Christmas, but I don’t dare give it to you in front of your family, so instead of Happy Christmas … Happy Yule.” She placed the box in Minerva’s trembling hand. “Let it serve as a reminder of just how much I love you when I can’t be here for you.” 

Minerva fumbled with the heavy box, managing to open it with a snap after a moment. She gasped slightly at the delicate beauty of the necklace displayed within. She pulled it from the box and set the box aside. She ran her fingers gently over the raised filigree, pausing to caress the nuzzling animals in the center with her thumb. A lump appeared in her throat at the thoughtfulness behind the gift and the sheer beauty of the piece. “Turn it over.” Her eyes flicked up to Morgan’s still serious face before turning it over and tracing the letters of the inscription. 

“If you press your thumb to it and say ‘devil-woman,’ the inscription will hide itself until you do the same to make it reappear. If you do the same on the front, the spider will become invisible, leaving only your cat. That way if you want to show it to your parents or anyone else, really, you don’t have to worry about explaining my parts.” 

Minerva tried it out on both the front and back, and while the pendant was still very beautiful that way, most of its charm was missing Morgan’s spider and the inscription. 

“I love it, Morgan. It’s perfect.” She leaned over and kissed Morgan on the cheek quickly. 

“It’ll never tarnish, and once you put it on, nobody except for you or I can remove it. If someone or something attempts to exert enough pressure on the chain to choke you, whatever it is – an object or a hand or finger – will pass through it as though it isn’t there. I won’t have any gift I give you used to injure or kill you. It will fully absorb most minor hexes and jinxes, and will reduce the effects of more major ones.” An image of four red jets streaming into Minerva’s chest haunted her memory. “Of course, the only things it can’t provide any protection against are the Killing Curse, of course, and while it may provide a small amount of shielding against the regular effects of Dementors, it cannot protect against their Kiss. I don’t anticipate the protections being necessary, Min, so don’t give me that look of ‘I can defend myself thank you very much.’ I just wanted to do what I could to help protect you when I can’t be here.” 

“I fought against Grindelwald and his forces, Morgan. I _can_ defend myself.” Her lips thinned and pursed up in mild displeasure. “And he’s gone anyway. What makes you think such stringent protections are warranted?” 

Morgan smiled at this reminder of the woman Minerva would turn into. She reached up to cup Minerva’s cheek in her hand, her thumb caressing high cheekbones. “Just because there is no Dark Lord trying to take over the world, Min, doesn’t mean there’s no evil out there. There are some who are just bad people who want to hurt others. I’ve seen too much to believe that such measures won’t ever be needed, although I can hope that they won’t. ‘Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’ It’s sound advice. 

“I just … I would throw myself in the path of anything someone tried to hit you with if I could, but I can’t always be there, Min. I _know_ you can defend yourself. You are magnificent and powerful and all the things other people wish they could be, but I just want to know that when I can’t be here, when you’re alone, that you are as safe as possible. I love you too much to allow anything to happen to you if I can at all help.” 

She leaned over and kissed Minerva passionately, pouring all her love into it and swallowing the last of Minerva’s reservations and arguments. Breaking off the kiss, she pressed her forehead against Minerva’s, her eyes closed. “Please just wear it. Please?” 

“I know you love me, Morgan, and I’ll wear it, protection charms or not, because you gave it to me. I may not understand the need for these nearly extreme measures, but if I could provide you with the same protections while you’re out there doing Merlin-knows-what for your job, I would. I love you.” 

There was just a moment of almost awkward silence before Morgan spoke up again. “It’s a locket, you know. I charmed the hinge to hide itself, and it won’t open for anyone else. Just press your thumb to the animals on the front and say ‘Open’ to see the inside.” 

“You astound me, Morgan. So much magic imbued into such a simple object.” She did what Morgan told her, and looked inside. “What? How?” Her eyes shot up to stare at Morgan in amazement. “There was nobody around with a camera. How is this possible?” 

The picture Morgan had placed in the locket was of the two of them standing on the wind-swept hill behind Sarclet Hall. The lights of the village twinkled behind them in the distance, and though it was night, you could make out the forms of Morgan and Minerva standing close together as Morgan took in the view. She had used a highly experimental charm from her own time which allowed for the copying of a memory to special photographic paper. It worked in much in the same manner as removing a memory for viewing in a Pensieve, but instead of storing the memory in the rune-inscribed basin, it stored a moving image on the charmed paper. She couldn’t explain all that, of course, as it wouldn’t be invented for another sixty years, so she deflected. 

“I can’t say how, but do you like it?” 

“I love it. It’s perfect, Morgan.” She snapped the locket closed and slipped the chain over her neck, the pendant nestling itself a few inches below the hollow of her neck, almost brushing the top of her cleavage, but not quite. 

Minerva leaned over and whispered “Thank you,” before beginning to ravage Morgan’s mouth, slowly and thoroughly. Hands roamed and soon buttons had been unbuttoned and shirts had been pushed off and thrown aside, as had the underlying bras. Morgan turned her body and straddled Minerva’s lap before reaching down and vanishing the lacy panties which made up her remaining clothes. 

Faced with her very naked and aroused girlfriend, Minerva’s possessive streak from earlier came roaring back out, and she growled into the kiss, “Mine!” before reaching out a hand to vanish the coffee table on her way to flip their positions and get Morgan laid out on the rug in front of the fire. 

With Morgan on her back and Minerva on top of her, Morgan used her feet to force Minerva’s trousers off of her hips and down around her ankles, neither of them pausing for even a second to break the kiss. Morgan reached down and vanished Minerva’s knickers just as she’d done her own, and suddenly there was nothing left between them. Filling her need, Minerva showed with forceful touches and possessive intensity just how much Morgan _belonged_ to her. If the urgent sounds issuing from her throat were any indication, Morgan understood what she was trying to say, and accepted this ownership role. 

Later, brown eyes shining black, Morgan reversed their roles and there on the soft rug in front of the fire, she showed with equal fervor that though she accepted that Minerva completely owned her, she also belonged to Morgan. 

Having exhausted themselves with their amorous activities, somehow they summoned enough energy to drag themselves to the bed, collapsing into its softness and passing into sweet oblivion with their bodies tangled hopelessly together. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there’s another chapter down. I’m trying to get this damn block to go away, but it’s fighting me. I managed this chapter within my new two-week deadline though, so that’s a positive step. 
> 
> In regards to the memory-photograph, I read about something similar in a story I read recently, but I can’t remember which one. It was Snape and Hermione and he turned some memories into photographs somehow and put them on his mantle. If you know the story I’m talking about, please let me know so I can credit the author for the idea. 
> 
> I wanted to take a brief moment here to advise you all that there is a new HP-centric website called hogwartsishere.com and they have things set up so you take actual classes and do real homework and research and receive grades on these assignments. Each completed assignment earns you house points for your chosen house, and they’re constantly adding new things to do. They’ve only been open a couple weeks (it’s completely free!) and I highly recommend it as a lot of fun. Come join me in Slytherin house! Come have fun with us! :D You can find my profile by adding /coldwrapped to the main website address.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!
> 
> Ack! I just realized I never posted this chapter here. It was published to FFN over a month ago, but I forgot to post here. I am so sorry!

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Sunday found Minerva often lost in happy thoughts, her fingers lovingly stroking the pendant hanging above her breasts. Every time she touched it, she was reminded of the strength of the love she and Morgan shared, and of their night in front of the fire. 

Temporarily removing her hand from the locket, she sighed in contemplation. She loved Morgan. She couldn’t imagine ever not loving her. The weeks between their visits had been challenging to endure, and she spent every unoccupied minute thinking about her red-haired vixen, wishing that she would be there waiting when Minerva got home. Now, she’d been told she would have to wait several months before Morgan could return to her once she left at the end of the week. 

She didn’t know how in the world she was going to live through such a long separation, though her practical nature was telling her that she would make it just fine because she had to. Just knowing she would have to make it for necessity’s sake didn’t make the waiting any easier. _June!_ Merlin, it was going to be a long rest of the winter and spring. 

“Min, are you ready?” She was drawn from her reverie by a low, gentle voice next to her ear. Twitching her lips to one side in a smirk, she twisted around quickly and pecked Morgan on the lips before spinning swiftly away, giggling gaily at the put-out look on her girlfriend’s face at the too-brief kiss. 

“Yes, I’m ready. I hope they like their gifts.” 

Morgan laughed lightly, imagining how pleased their hostess and her daughter would be at the things Morgan and Minerva were bringing them. “I think Rosie would be happy if all we showed up with were some chocolates, but I really do hope she likes her real present as much as I think she will.” 

“I’m sure she will. They’re fantastic, even if I don’t fully understand the meaning behind them.” 

“It’ll all make sense once you see.” 

“I have no doubts, _a rúnsearc_ , you have all my faith.” She beamed a sincere smile at Morgan, who closed the distance between them rapidly, her brown eyes boring intently into Minerva’s green ones. 

“I may have all your faith, my little hellcat, but you have all my love.” Folding Minerva into her arms, she could feel hands skimming up them to join and come to rest behind her neck, fingers playing absently with the loose curls she found there. 

“Aye, you have that as well.” Morgan raised her lips to Minerva’s, and they met in a kiss so fierce and passionate that Minerva lost all sense of herself, not noticing as they disappeared from her flat and appeared in the falling snow behind the Three Broomsticks. She did, however, notice the cold after a moment, and pulled back from the kiss, staring up at the late evening sky and watching the snowflakes drift down to find purchase on her nose and eyelashes. “It’s magic,” she whispered. 

“I agree. When I was a child, I always thought things like snow were the best magic ever, apart from books. Then I found out about real magic and immersed myself in the Wizarding world, but there still remains a bit of magic and mystery in the softly falling snow, especially around Christmas.” 

“Aye, there is.” 

They stood there, each holding an arm around the other as they allowed themselves a moment of silence to appreciate the nearly-Christmas snow. The sun finished its descent during their silent introspection, and it wasn’t long before a rectangular shaped void in the shadows began to appear, filled with the yellow light of a lantern. 

“Why are you two standing out in the snow? Rosie’s about to drive me spare with the incessant ‘Mummy, where’s Mo’gan and Merva? Where are they, Mummy?’ Please come in and end my misery.” Morgan and Minerva looked at each other and dissolved into giggles at the exasperated tone in the innkeeper’s voice. “I’m glad you find my pain so amusing.” She sniffed indignantly. 

“I could be persuaded to add a Headache Elixir to your gift if it’s truly so bad, Madam Mairead.” Morgan said cheekily as she and Minerva headed inside. 

“Oh, hush your mouth and get in out of the cold.” She ushered them through the back door and closed it firmly behind them. “And you can stop with all this ‘Madam Mairead’ business. You make me feel like I’m more than twice your age, and I’m not quite there yet.” 

That stopped Morgan in her tracks as she was hanging her cloak beside the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought to ask your age.” 

“Most don’t, sweetling. But since you clearly seem to think that I’m nearing ancient, even though I have a three-year-old child, how old do you _think_ I am?” 

Morgan took a moment to think back on everything she’d heard about Wizards’ aging. The blonde innkeeper appeared to be somewhere in her thirties, so with a quick bit of math, she guessed, “Fifty? Which is nowhere near ancient, Mairead. It’s still quite early in the life of a witch or wizard.” 

“I turn forty in a couple months. Impudent wretch.” She sounded more amused than offended at the incorrect guess. 

Minerva’s head was resting in her palm, cheeks pinking up in embarrassment. 

“But…” Morgan’s mind was racing. 

“Aging in the Wizarding world is as changeable as it is for the Muggles, Morgan. And some things irrevocably age a person faster than they would normally. My … event was watching as Rosie’s father was torn apart by one of Grindelwald’s soldiers while I portkeyed away to safety. Calum never even got to meet her.” 

Abashed at the effect her guess had on Mairead, Morgan whispered, “I am so sorry.” 

There was something of deep pain hiding behind her clear violet eyes, overlaid with love and acceptance. “Worry not, _taistealaiche_. You didn’t know. There’s no way you could have.” 

“Mummy! Where Mo’gan? Where Merva? Mummy!” Rosie called out from the safety of their private rooms, and all three women smiled fondly as they looked in that direction. 

“We’re here, my precious girl!” Morgan grinned at the answering shriek, noticing how Mairead winced at the noise. She walked up to the older woman and placed her hand on her shoulder. “My most sincere apologies for making you relive painful memories, Mairead. War is indiscriminate on who it takes from us.” She was thinking of many people in that moment: her parents, Sirius, Snape, Cedric, and Percy. She thought about Lily and James and how deeply their deaths had affected Harry. She thought about Dobby and his sacrifice. She thought about Calum and how his death had affected Mairead and baby Rosmerta. And lastly, she thought about Dumbledore and the soul-shattering effect that would have on Minerva when the time came. She made a vow to herself that whatever the repercussions of crossing her own timeline, she would be there for Minerva when it happened. 

For now, however, a look of understanding passed between Morgan and Mairead; an understanding of the losses of war. Another shriek from Rosie banished the somberness between them, and Morgan grinned broadly again, nearly skipping in her haste to get to the child. 

Minerva was close behind her, and for just a moment, Mairead was left in the kitchen by herself. She wondered who else Morgan had lost in the war. It had been so easy to read in her eyes that she had lost too many. She was full of contradictions; one moment, the darkness and sadness would take over, and in the next second, she was smiling and so full of life and joy. 

When they’d first met, she was destitute and dependent on strangers like herself and Minerva to get by, but then the next time she came, she was carrying a load of _Basilisk_ parts, for heaven’s sake, and told Mairead that she held not just one Mastery, but that she actually had two! And she was paying far more for the services rendered to her by the inn than she should, and giving her more to put away for Rosie’s future. Not to mention the extravagant gifts she was prone to bestowing on Rosie, conjuring some out of thin air! That playpen had become invaluable to keeping track of her young daughter, but it was something she had never seen before, and she wondered from where Morgan could possibly have come up with it. 

She spoke of friendship and loss, but yet seemed to be utterly alone apart from Minerva. And hadn’t that been a delightful surprise to watch unfold? Mairead truly didn’t judge anyone for their tastes and proclivities, so long as both people seemed happy with the situation, and both Morgan and Minerva seemed blissful with each other. 

Mairead had ever been one to find the solutions to life’s problems and puzzles, and Morgan was quickly turning into one of the most complex puzzles she’d ever seen. There was something just on the outer edge of her ability to see that she thought would tie it all together, but it was yet still out of her reach. However, there had never been a puzzle she couldn’t solve, and solve this one, she would. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Rosie absolutely adored her Christmas presents. By the time they’d finished dinner, she was yawning widely, and demanded sleepily that she be allowed to take both of her new friends to sleep with her, one curled under each arm. There was a stuffed deer named Bambi who matched the deer on the nightscape side of her quilt, and a stuffed rabbit named Peter who matched the bunnies on the dayscape side. Also included with the fluffy toys were the books from which Morgan had drawn their names. There was a complete set of Beatrix Potter’s _Peter Rabbit_ stories, and the English translations of Felix Salten’s _Bambi, a Life in the Woods,_ and _Bambi’s Children, a Family in the Woods._  

After all, for all that she was Morgan Stewart when in the past, she was still Hermione Granger, and books were her own Holy Grail. 

Mairead had been entranced by the beauty of the Muggle literature and toys, and allowed Rosie to take her new friends to bed with her, Morgan choosing to sit and read the first of the Potter tales softly aloud until the toddler was fast asleep. 

The three women sat and sipped at glasses of what had become their favorite drink – the lightly alcoholic and fruity Gillywater. As they talked quietly, not wanting to wake Rosmerta, Mairead watched Morgan carefully, trying to pick up any details she might let slip. The puzzle was demanding to be solved. 

Morgan was pretty tightly buttoned up, even under the slight effects of the Gillywater, but she had an air of lightness about her as they talked about the children’s books she’d brought for Rosie’s gift. She was telling them how her father used to read both stories to her when she was very small and how she missed the innocence of those moments cuddled up in his lap. He had been the one to foster her early love of books and reading, and he’d taught her to read long before Primary school using the same books, amongst others. 

It was only later that night, after Morgan and Minerva had gone home, when Mairead was flipping idly through the books they’d brought, that her suspicions were given solid ground on which to stand. Morgan had told them that she was twenty-five, which would have placed her birth in 1921, and those early years reading with her father ending around 1926, when she would have gone to school, already having learnt to read. However, the English translation of _Bambi_ wasn’t released in America until two years later, and it hadn’t made the journey back to Britain until a year after that, according to the notices in the front of the book. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the information, but there was something off about the stories she’d told, and about the repeated long-distance apparitions, when Portkeys were safer and much more reliable across such long distances. 

More and more pieces were fitting themselves tightly into the puzzle, but while Mairead still couldn’t see the entire picture, there was enough of it visible to raise further questions. She needed to have a long discussion with Morgan. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Oblivious to Mairead’s suspicions and to just how close she was getting to solving her precious puzzle, Morgan and Minerva had gone back home and lost themselves in each other for a while, Morgan falling asleep first, Minerva curled into her side in their preferred sleeping position. 

Minerva, although completely sated, couldn’t quite get her mind to shut down. It was fixated on how long she would be deprived of Morgan’s loving presence after the coming week. It was sure to be a difficult time, and she had nobody in which she could confide about their relationship. Mairead knew, of course, and Rob, but somehow – at least in her mind – Mairead was more Morgan’s friend than her own. Although she had known the innkeeper longer, having always seen her on school trips to the little Wizarding village, she didn’t think they would have gotten even as close as they had over the last few months if Morgan hadn’t jump-started their increased contact. 

And Rob? As much as she loved Rob, he was her brother, and not yet the age of legal majority. She would feel strange indeed going to her baby brother with her romantic woes, even if he was available, which he wouldn’t readily be for another three years. 

In her sleep, Morgan pulled Minerva impossibly closer, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns up and down her side. Safe, warm, and loved in the embrace, Minerva finally began to drift into sleep, dreams of a future with Morgan interspersed with dark twists and turns; visions of a future alone without Morgan or anyone else. It had been said that dreams reveal our innermost desires and fears, and if the night’s dark leanings could be believed, then Minerva’s deepest fear was a life lived alone and unloved. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Minerva’s dreams dissipated with the morning sun, and although her fears were still very much there, she managed to shove them aside so she could fully enjoy the time she had left before Morgan had to leave, and so they could both enjoy their last day before heading to the Highlands for Christmas with Minerva’s family. 

They agreed that in this Holiday visit, they would attempt to adhere to Robert and Isobel’s anti-magic rules, and try to control their physical impulses out of respect for Minerva’s parents. Rob had already found out; they didn’t want to run the risk of anyone else doing the same. 

While getting on with their work for the day of cleaning and packing and ensuring that everything was ready for the flat to be abandoned for a couple of days, they found time for frequent breaks, taking their fill of each other in as many ways as they could think of. They had sex slowly, torturously, permeated by long lust-filled moans and the gentlest of caresses. They had sex furiously, quickly, and intensely, the long moans replaced with high-pitched screams and vulgar utterances. The freshly cleaned and polished table played host to a tryst, only to have to be cleaned and polished yet again afterward. The sofa was used in such a manner as to break one of the delicate legs off, tumbling the amorous couple laughing to the floor, Morgan repairing it once they’d finished on the rug, which then needed another cleaning itself. 

Both beds were re-christened before the sheets and blankets were removed and washed, and when everything else was done and they were cleaning themselves in the shower, the bathtub served as a good place for soapy, slippery sex before a quick scrubbing charm ridded the porcelain container of the last bits of soap scum and other sticky fluids, the surface gleaming in the aftermath of the charm. 

With their numerous interruptions of cleaning, the process took all day to complete, but when they fell together, clean into the fresh sheets adorning Minerva’s bed, their hands could still not keep away from each other, and Morgan showed Minerva a technique they hadn’t yet used at that point. This new way of loving each other was different enough from what they’d previously done to cause Minerva to sputter and blush when the idea was presented, but soon she was past all semblance of embarrassment as the new sensations washed over both her and Morgan, causing a mutual completion of such intensity that she very nearly passed out from the pleasure. 

They spooned together after, naked under the sheet and blanket, Minerva surrounded by the loving warmth of Morgan’s body. All thoughts had fled her mind, but for one, and it repeated itself endlessly in the form of a wish. _I wish I could stay right here, just like this, forever._  

Unbeknownst to her, Minerva’s wish was being shared in that moment by Morgan. She never wanted to leave Min or her bed, and wished that she could keep the obsidian-haired woman in her arms every moment of every day for the rest of their lives. She pushed out any thoughts of the future, of being Hermione, of what she would be facing when she had to go home, and the tension that would exist between them over the days spent in Sarclet, leaving only that moment and the way she felt in it. 

Morgan didn’t know what she believed about religion or the afterlife, but as they drifted to sleep together, she thought to herself that if such a thing as Heaven existed, this would be hers. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

As the crack of apparition faded away, Morgan stepped away from Minerva, the fingers of her right hand brushing gently over her lips, knowing that if they were going to comply with her parents’ rules over the holiday, this would be her last chance for any intimate contact. Their eyes lingered over each other’s faces, and after whispering quick words of love, they stepped from the apparition shed and out into the morning sunlight as it reflected off the snowdrifts. 

The rest of the day passed in a hectic whirl of preparation, cooking, and cleaning, all done the Muggle way. Isobel was firmly in charge, issuing orders to all three of her children and Morgan at lightning speed, and taking a hand in every task as it was completed. In addition to preparing the family meal and holiday treats, there were small baked goods to distribute to the parishioners at the midnight service that night. 

The whole of the Presbyterian Church might be debating the rightfulness of celebrating the birth of Jesus on a date that was wholly unfounded in their religion, but was instead mandated centuries earlier to combat the Pagan Solstice of Yule, but the Reverend McGonagall had always asserted that even if the date was completely incorrect, his savior’s birth should be celebrated at some point, and if the world chose the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of December as that time, then he would celebrate it with them. 

Rather than giving away small token gifts which could be taken as idols by his critics in the community, he’d always had Isobel bake up small lightly sweetened cakes filled with nuts and dried fruit, and each person at the midnight service would receive one as they left to add to their own holiday meals and celebrations. He didn’t have a large congregation, but chopping all the nuts and dried fruits took a good bit of time and effort, as did mixing and baking all the small treats. 

They finally had everything well in hand by the time the sun went down, sitting down exhausted to the meal they’d all helped prepare while taking care of everything else. 

Isobel had kept a careful eye on every facet of what had happened in her kitchen that day, and hadn’t missed the lingering looks that had been shared between her only daughter and her red-haired friend. She could tell they both thought they were being subtle, and she was planning to continue letting them think so, at least for now. She had no proof that it was anything more than a fleeting attraction, or that they’d done anything about it, and until she had anything more than her suspicions, she didn’t see the harm. There was no need to push them further toward each other if nothing had been said or done, and if she ever saw proof that something had happened between them, well, then she’d take that as it happened. 

“Alright, girls first. Minerva, you and Morgan can decide between you who gets the bath first. Boys, you’ll go after they’re done, as it won’t take your hair as long to dry.” She checked the clock on the wall. “If you keep things quick, you should have enough time for about an hour’s nap before we head down for the service. Morgan, I’m sorry I don’t know what your beliefs are, but as you’re here with us tonight, I must insist that you attend as well.” 

“I have no objections to that, Isobel. Thank you for including me.” 

“Of course, dear. Now you two scoot on upstairs and get cleaned up.” 

Shrewd eyes watched and narrowed as the two women left the dining room to head upstairs, the distance between them maintained a little too carefully. _Minerva, what are you doing?_  

Upstairs, the air around Minerva and Morgan lightened considerably as they were left alone together for the first time since arriving that morning. Minerva smiled wearily as they entered her bedroom, having been told they could share again since that had worked so well the last time Morgan visited. Morgan ushered her into the bathroom first, volunteering for the second shower so Minerva would have longer to rest before they had to be down for the service. While she was occupied, Morgan took the opportunity to repeat the charms she was allowed to use on the bed, again adding the gentle heating charm to the quilt so they would have a toasty bed to sink into when they got back. 

Minerva didn’t take long, and Morgan tucked her into the warming bed for her nap before ducking into the room next door to take her own shower. The water was already cooling, so she mentally begged forgiveness and switched the hot tap off, placing a heating charm on the cold tap so she could have a hot shower while allowing the reservoir to heat back up before the boys came up, not wanting to subject them to a cold bath or shower before they all headed out into the bitter cold for the midnight service. 

She finished quickly and used a couple of mild charms to finish drying her hair as well as Minerva’s, dropping a short kiss to the sleeping woman’s temple before dressing and going back down to let the boys know the bathroom was ready for them. 

Her hair still loose, she sat back down with Isobel for another cup of tea, her study and work habits having acclimated her to a longer day than Minerva was used to. 

“I wanted to let you know, I used a bit of magic upstairs and charmed the cold tap to heat the water as it passed through to allow the boys the chance at something other than a cold bath or shower. I know this is a mostly magic-free household, so I didn’t want to lie to you about my magic use.” Her eyes were glued to the teacup she was absently spinning on its saucer, nervous about admitting her guilt to Minerva’s mum. 

“Oh, that’s fine, dear. Thank you for being thoughtful, and for letting me know. Honesty is extremely important to both Robert and me. I’m not strictly happy that you used magic, but I’m sure Malcolm and Rob will appreciate the courtesy of the gesture, as will I once they’re finished.” Her sly eyes cut to the softly floating strands of Morgan’s already dry hair. “And I’m certain nobody wants to become ill from walking out in these frigid temperatures with wet or damp hair.” She smirked knowingly at the shocked blush that appeared on Morgan’s cheeks. 

“Err, yeah. Sorry, I’m so used to that one that I completely forgot. I dried Minerva’s as well. She was so tired that she didn’t even wake.” The two witches shared a laugh, each remembering the trials of waking Minerva when she wasn’t ready to be roused. 

They passed light conversation as they slowly drained their cups of tea, Morgan excusing herself after to go up and finish getting ready, and Isobel going up to get her own bath. Checking the time, Morgan woke Minerva softly and quietly, and they dressed efficiently, meeting everyone downstairs at a quarter to midnight, each one taking up a basket filled with the little cakes to carry down to the church. 

Despite the differences in their beliefs, Morgan found that she quite enjoyed the Christmas service, seated between Minerva and Malcolm on the second pew, Isobel on Minerva’s other side, and Rob on Malcolm’s. She caught Minerva’s eyes drifting closed several times during her father’s short sermon, and she was barely able to stay awake long enough to help her parents hand out the cakes afterward. 

As they began to trudge through the snow back up the hill to the house, Minerva tripped and stumbled several times, and found herself leaning tiredly on Morgan’s shoulder. As she faltered again, a grim look overtook Morgan’s face, and she quietly handed their empty baskets over to Malcolm, shooting a questioning glance at Isobel, who nodded smartly at her. Whispering a mild version of the feather-light charm wandlessly, she swung Minerva’s exhausted form into her arms, one arm behind her back, and the other hooked beneath her knees. Unthinking, Minerva wrapped her arms around Morgan’s neck and nuzzled her face into the warmth of Morgan’s shoulder. With the lightening charm in place, Morgan easily carried Minerva home as she slept, trying to maintain as much decorum and distance as she could with her entire family watching. 

Back at the manse, Isobel offered to help get her sleeping daughter into bed, but Morgan refused the assistance, quietly stating that she could take care of her alone, even without the further use of magic. Tired herself, she missed the knowing look that flashed through Isobel’s eyes, so similar to those of her daughter. 

The door closed behind her, Morgan laid Minerva on the bed, and set about getting her snow-dampened clothes off, properly putting away each piece as it was removed. Minerva was just awake enough to help get her nightgown on and to sit up long enough for Morgan to pull her hair into the thick sleeping plait before settling into the heated bed. Minerva taken care of, Morgan readied herself for bed and turned the lamps off, snuggling in behind Minerva before falling into a deep sleep, her arms wrapped tightly around her somnolent girlfriend, sharing their heat. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Morgan woke several hours later, the grey light of early dawn filtering through the windows, uneasy for a reason she couldn’t explain to herself. Groggy, she registered that while they’d slept, she and Minerva had fallen back into their regular positions. Her arms tightened around Minerva as she snored quietly, a habit she only had when extremely exhausted. Her head turned just slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and hearing a resulting sound she hadn’t expected. A throat cleared next to her, and a cool hand touched her empty shoulder gently. 

Morgan’s eyes flew open, her right hand automatically reaching for her waist before remembering that her wand was in the wardrobe with their clothes. 

“Shh. Let’s not wake Minerva, shall we? But I think you and I need to have a little chat, Miss Stewart.” Isobel whispered quietly from her position next to the bed. 

“Shit.” Morgan couldn’t the word from escaping in her shock. 

“Indeed. If you could extricate yourself, please, and come downstairs, I could use a hand with breakfast.” Despite the polite words, the older woman’s tone of voice would brook no refusal. 

“Of course,” Morgan whispered, not wanting to wake Minerva. “I’ll be down in just a moment.” Isobel nodded and left, the door snicking closed behind her. 

 _Shitshitshitshitshit!_ Morgan wriggled her way out of the bed, turning her pillow so that Minerva had something to snuggle against, knowing she would wake up soon if she didn’t have at least a rough approximation in place. She ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it down as much as possible, and grabbed her robe and slipped her feet into a fluffy pair of slippers before heading down to face the music. 

Stepping nervously into the blessedly warm kitchen, she could see Isobel beginning to put ingredients together for the morning bread. “Ah, there you are. Help yourself to a cup of coffee if you want, or there’s still water in the kettle if you’d prefer tea. When you’re ready, have a seat,” she gestured at one of the kitchen chairs opposite where she was working, “and we’ll talk.” 

“I…” 

She was interrupted. “No, get your drink first and have a seat. We’ll talk then.” 

Brown eyes downcast, Morgan did what she was told, opting for the stronger coffee and adding nothing to dilute the bitterness of the drink, needing the strength it offered. She took her first couple of sips and then sat in the indicated chair, eyes raising from the floor to watch as Isobel busily work on the beginnings of the morning meal. 

“You and my daughter seem to be very close, Miss Stewart. When you first came to visit us, I noticed there was something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then yesterday, while you were working, you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. Every spare second, you were looking at each other as though you were starving and the other person was a ten-course meal. I found myself wondering exactly why this could be, especially given your later behavior of the careful distance, as though you were trying to keep from raising suspicions, which is ridiculous because the last time I checked, you were both women, and there should be no need for suspicions such as those.” Her eyes had darkened as she spoke, and were glittering darkly as she continued to speak, pausing for a moment in her food preparation. 

“Then on the way home last night… a normal female friend – a normal woman – would have asked Robert to carry her, and I can assure you that he’s still quite strong enough to have done it, but instead, you looked to me for permission for the magic and then carried her yourself, refusing my help to get her into bed. But, Miss Stewart, what clenched my fears was seeing the way you sleep twined together like lovers who are long-accustomed to each other. 

“So I am giving you this opportunity to come clean with me. We have discussed my preference for the honest truth, and I am asking for it this morning. What is your relationship with my daughter?” 

Morgan took another sip of her hot coffee, giving herself a few seconds to think and formulate a response. Finally, she began to speak, her tone even and calm. “Minerva has told me a bit about your history, and why honesty is so important to you, and that’s something we share. I have hated keeping this from you, but it was at her request, as she was unsure of your reaction. I’m still not quite sure of your reaction given the way you’ve presented your side of the argument so far, but in the interest of honesty, I refuse to lie to you. I love Minerva, and she loves me, and I am not ashamed of it.” 

She set her coffee cup down on the nearest surface, not wanting her shaking hands to drop it. 

“I see. Though I’m loathe to ask the next question, I fear I must. Are you having inappropriate relations with her?” 

Morgan flushed a deep red, the color spreading from her chest up into her face and down her arms. “I suppose that depends on your definition of inappropriate.” 

“Don’t be coy with me, Miss Stewart,” Isobel snapped. “You know very well what I mean.” 

“My apologies. I’m not sure it’s really your business to know, but yes, by your definition, we likely are being highly inappropriate with each other. However, what you need to know is that if it was possible – if it was legal – I would marry her in a second and the relations would then cease to be inappropriate, but that’s not an option we currently have, much to my great regret.” 

“You’re so certain of your abiding affection for her that you would take such steps if they were possible?” Isobel was surprised to hear the unwavering devotion in the woman’s words and in her tone of voice. 

“Absolutely. I … I wasn’t unspoiled when I met Minerva – war has a way of making one sort through their priorities in that way sometimes – but although she was not my first, I can tell you with every honesty that she will be my last. Nobody – male or female – could ever live up to her. I will spend every minute of my life loving her and trying to be worthy of her love.” Her words were met with silence. 

“It was her choice not to tell you to begin with, and I apologize that I was unable to be as up-front with this information as I wanted to be, but now that you know, I would love nothing more than to be able to tell her that we have your blessing to be together. I can’t promise never-ending happiness – I have other responsibilities which will keep me away from her far more than I’d like – and I can’t promise that our road will be completely smooth and without blemish or bump, but I can promise to never waver in my love for her, to remain absolutely faithful to her for as many years as we’re given together, and to provide as comfortable a life for her as I can, recognizing that she is completely capable of taking care of herself.” 

The wistful look on her face dissolved away, and steel appeared in her eyes as they rose to meet Isobel’s unflinchingly. “I want to make myself clear, however. I greatly desire your blessing, and I would never want to get in the way of her relationship with her family – I have come to care for all of you as well, and have been looking forward to building my own relationship with each of you as time passes – but I will not give her up if the blessing is not given. If this is something you cannot accept, I will stay away from you and Robert, Malcom, and Rob, but I earnestly ask that you not exclude Minerva from your lives over me and her feelings for me. She will need the loving support of her family during the times I cannot be here because of my work obligations.” 

Isobel sat and absorbed Morgan’s words, the silence stretching between them. “I have no problems with your preferences, or with Minerva’s. I was raised in the Wizarding World, and though it is quite rare, it is not as taboo a subject as it is in the Muggle world. I dislike that if your relationship ever goes public, she will be subject to intense scrutiny on many sides. I dislike that you have both been dishonest thus far. That said, I can see in your eyes, in your face, and in your entire manner, that you have a great deal of love for my daughter, and you seem to be committed to her. That is all I have ever wanted for my children: love and happiness and stability. 

“My husband being a member of the Clergy, and a Muggle as well, it will likely take him longer to come to terms with the relationship, but for my part, Morgan, you have my blessing.” 

“Truly?” Morgan felt hope fluttering about in her chest. If Isobel could be so accepting, even in this time and socio-political environment, then surely Robert and Malcolm could be brought around eventually, couldn’t they? 

Isobel’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Truly.” 

A brief, tight hug later, Morgan was on her way back upstairs to try and grab another hour’s sleep with Minerva before anyone else even began to stir on the cold Christmas morning. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

Hours later, after the family had finished their late lunch, they gathered in the den, seated in chairs around the warmth of the fire, and exchanged gifts. After her conversation with Isobel that morning, Morgan was a bit on edge, trying not to be too obvious in front of Robert and Malcolm. Her efforts were greeted by the occasional annoyed look from Minerva, amused grins from Rob, and a grim tightening of the eyes from Isobel. 

The gift-giving was started with Robert and Isobel’s gifts to their children – and to Morgan, much to her surprise. She fingered the soft woolen scarf that Isobel had knitted for her and fought back tears at the love and acceptance she’d found with Minerva’s family in such a short amount of time. She wanted desperately to know what happened to them over the years between where she was and where she came from so she could try and keep them safe, but she thought it would be too heartbreaking and too tempting to change things if she knew. _Best to keep the lid on Pandora’s box_ , she thought sadly. 

While she had been musing on her gift, the rest of the family had exchanged their gifts for each other, and it was down now to her to hand out the last set of gifts. 

Robert was delighted with his spectacles. They weren’t much, cost-wise, which he appreciated, but Morgan had given them a magical boost that was so subtle that his Muggle parishioners would never be able to discover. Years of repairing Harry’s eyeglasses had given her invaluable experience in the weak spots, and she had placed unbreakable charms on each of them, making the glasses virtually indestructible. The lenses couldn’t be scratched or broken, the arms could never be removed, and the bridge could never be snapped, no matter how much pressure was placed on it. The lenses carried another mild charm, allowing them to adjust to his changing eyesight as the years passed and his eyes grew weaker. For a man who spent much of his life reading and studying the bible and other scholarly religious texts, the loss of his eyesight would be devastating. This way, it was something he would never need to suffer, and nobody else would ever be the wiser. 

Isobel kept slipping her hands in and out of the warm, fur-lined gloves she had been given, commenting on how handy they would be during her frequent walks down to the village in the bitter cold of a Highlands winter. 

Minerva had suggested a broom servicing kit for Rob. He was a first-string chaser for the Slytherin team, and she’d heard in a letter from him that his old kit was running out of supplies. Morgan had added to that a stack of satin ribbons he could use to tie letter-bundles together for safe stashing in the expanded drawer of his writing case. His eyes lit up at both gifts, and he’d given both Minerva and Morgan tight hugs for their thoughtfulness. 

Her secondary gift for Minerva – since the necklace had been too personal to give in front of her family – was a set of two slim volumes of poetry by Kathleen Raine which had recently been published. They contained several beautiful love poems that she wanted to share with Minerva when they were back at her flat alone. 

For Malcolm, the gift was a bit more extravagant, doubling as both his Christmas and Birthday gifts in one. He ran his fingers reverently over the silver pocketwatch, opening and closing its cover several times, a thick lump in his throat. She explained that there were a few charms on the watch as well, making it unbreakable, self-cleaning, and that it would never require winding to keep it running smoothly. She had also secretly made it an emergency portkey, which would be activated if his vitals dipped to life-threatening levels, sending him to St. Mungo’s. She told nobody of that particular feature, hoping its use would never become necessary. 

Her choice of a pocketwatch had been fueled in part by the watch Harry had received from Arthur Weasley when he’d turned seventeen. It was a tradition in the magical world, and even more so in this time than in the future when Harry had gotten his, but it was not a Muggle tradition, and where Isobel would normally have handed down one from her family when the time came, she had been out of contact with them since she’d announced her marriage to Robert twenty-odd years earlier. Minerva had let slip in conversation once that Malcolm’s pureblood friends at school had been teasing him for not having one since his last birthday, and she had resolved to rectify the situation. 

She could see the emotions bubbling to the surface on Isobel’s face at the unexpected kindness. Morgan had expected that, as well as perhaps a bit of embarrassment at her daughter’s friend having to provide a gift that should have come from family. What she hadn’t expected was the look of adamant pride that shone from Malcolm’s watery eyes as he quietly choked out his thanks. He was still tracing the etched design slowly and lovingly, moved beyond words at the thoughtfulness of the gift. 

The gift-giving over, the family disbursed through the house to enjoy the things they had received, and in Minerva’s case, she was going up for a nap, still not over the exertions of the previous day. Morgan was on her way up to join her when she was stopped by Malcolm, conflicting looks of wonder and worry on his face. 

“Miss Stewart, may I have a moment of your time, please? It won’t take long.” 

“Of course, Malcolm, and please, call me Morgan. I’m not used to such formalities.” 

He nodded brusquely. “If you insist, Mi… Morgan. Follow me, please.” He led her into a small drawing room that wasn’t used much, but was filled with the afternoon sunlight. They sat opposite each other in comfortable chairs, and after a moment’s silence, he began to speak, the silver pocketwatch tightly gripped in his hand. 

“I don’t know how much Minerva has told you, but she has apparently told you at least a little about our circumstances if you chose to give me this watch, knowing that it’s a Wizarding tradition about which my father was unaware. For at least the next several months, until I leave Hogwarts to begin my adult life, it will make my social life immeasurably easier, and I thank you. My gratitude is deeper than I have words with which to express.” 

“I was happy to do it. I have more than ample financial means, and I enjoy making people happier with the gifts I give.” 

“That’s partly what I wanted to discuss with you. When we met you, you had nothing, and relied upon my sister’s charity for a week. Then you show back up a month later, having chipped in on Rob’s gift, as well as – from the look of surprise on even Minerva’s face when he opened the case – adding more to it than was strictly necessary. The things you gave everyone for Christmas weren’t extravagant, but neither were they exactly cheap. I have an eye for quality, you see. This watch, for instance. Mum would look at it and assume it cost at most a couple galleons, but I can tell you paid no less than ten, and I’d guess more along the lines of fifteen. That broom-servicing kit you gave Rob is the best one on the market, and Mum’s gloves had the mark of real quality about them. Simple-looking gifts, yes, but again, not inexpensive.” 

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You got me, Malcolm. As I said, I have liberal means, and I enjoy giving nice gifts. I’m just not quite sure I understand where you’re going with this.” 

“When I leave Hogwarts in June, I want to Apprentice for Defense and achieve a Mastery before entering Auror Officer’s training. I know of a Master who will take me on, but the going rate for the process is ninety galleons per annum, and I have no other way to come up with the funds. From what I have observed of you, I’d wager you have a Mastery of your own, so you must understand the system of Patronage. Minerva has Professor Dumbledore as hers, and I’m hoping that I can talk you into being mine.” 

She was shocked to hear his request. A bit of quick math in her head showed her that the price was comparable to what she’d paid for her own Mastery in the future, so it wasn’t unreasonable, but to be asked point-blank was disconcerting. 

“I see. You assume I have enough to do this from your little bit of gift-pricing extrapolation?” 

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t have much more. Although if I’m wrong, I’ll just have to search out another patron in your place.” 

“And would you expect to be furnished with a flat and a stipend, the way Dumbledore has Minerva set up? Or would you do more as I did and find a job to support yourself during your studies?” 

“Are you saying you do have the money available and are considering things, or is this hypothetical?” 

“Let’s say hypothetical for now.” 

“I’d be happy to work my way through my Apprenticeship, but if you wanted to offer up the flat and stipend, I wouldn’t say no.” 

She laughed lightly. “Are you sure you aren’t the one in Slytherin instead of your brother?” 

“Oh, I nearly was, but I was afraid of what Mum would think, so the hat put me in Ravenclaw instead. My intelligence is only matched by my cunning and ambitions.” 

She absorbed everything he’d said, and thought it was all actually quite well thought out, and she had enough to fund several such Apprenticeships, but she didn’t want Minerva or Isobel either one to think she was trying to buy her way into the family. Minerva knew she was very well off at this point in their relationship, but had no idea just how much she was worth. She knew Morgan was fond of buying nice things for people, and that she had no problems helping out Minerva’s flagging budget by taking care of the grocery bills and such while she was there, but she would be overwhelmed and possibly horrified if she knew the true depths of her lover’s wealth. But despite his words asserting that he would be able to find another patron, Morgan was worried that he wouldn’t be able to find one as easily as he thought. Perhaps…. 

“If I agree to this – and let’s be clear, Malcolm, it’s a big if, but _if_ I agree to do this, there is one aspect of the arrangement that must be strictly adhered to, and that’s that it remains strictly confidential. I understand the Master who takes you on will need to know from whom his yearly payment comes, but otherwise, nobody knows. Is that clear?” 

“Crystal.” 

“Regarding the living stipend, you will need to do the research yourself. Locate the flat, get me a pricing schedule for your rent, and an estimate of how much you think you will need to get by for food and pocket money. I will review everything and ensure that you aren’t padding your numbers. I’ll not give you any exorbitant amounts, and if you exceed your approved expenses, you will need to acquire employment to take up the slack. I worked the entire time I was pursuing my own studies and had no stipend on which to fall back, so it’s not impossible.” 

“So you’ll do it?” He couldn’t hide his excitement despite himself, a broad smile crossing his face at the prospect of finding a suitable patron so quickly. He hadn’t expected her to capitulate so easily. 

“I will. I leave this weekend for work, and won’t be back until June, so you have plenty of time to get your research done. We’ll get everything set up then, as I’m unsure as to when I’ll be back after that visit. And remember, not a word to anyone else.” 

“Thank you, Morgan. I, uh, didn’t think my gamble would work. I do have an eye for quality, and figured you’d paid a little more for our gifts than they would think, but I had no idea you really had that much money. I just figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.” 

Morgan stood and straightened her dress. “Yes, well, your bluff worked this time. Don’t expect that it always will.” 

“I won’t.” 

She checked her wristwatch, noting that their conversation had taken only ten minutes. She had plenty of time to go join Minerva in her afternoon nap. “I’m going up for a nap.” She reached out one hand as she passed his chair and her fingers grazed his cheek, forcing him to look up at her with his father’s dark eyes. “You are a cheeky little bugger, aren’t you? Too much like your sister in that. I wish you all the best in your studies, and in your career in the Auror Corps.” Her hand drifted back to her side, and she strode from the room, hurrying on her way back to her lover’s side. 

=======================HG/MM======================= 

After another night of sleeping beside Morgan without the possibility of anything more, Minerva was in a hurry to get home the next morning. They stayed for breakfast before packing up their belongings and apparating back to her London flat. 

They’d barely gotten their bags unpacked when she’d attacked Morgan, craving her lover’s touch with a furiously deep need. Later, sated and happy, she curled up on the sofa in front of the crackling fire, her head laid on Morgan’s lap. Long fingers worked themselves through her long hair, stroking lovingly with dexterous movements, over and over. Minerva was humming her contentment at the treatment as Morgan’s low calm voice read to her from one of the Raine poetry books. 

_“Yours is the face that the earth turns to me,  
_ _Continuous beyond its human features lie  
_ _The mountain forms that rest against the sky.  
_ _With your eyes, the reflecting rainbow, the sun's light  
_ _Sees me; forest and flower, bird and beast  
_ _Know and hold me forever in the world's thought,  
_ _Creation's deep untroubled retrospect._

_“When your hand touches mine it is the earth  
_ _That takes me—the green grass,  
_ _And rocks and rivers; the green graves,  
_ _And children still unborn, and ancestors,  
_ _In love passed down from hand to hand from God.  
_ _Your love comes from the creation of the world,  
_ _From those paternal fingers, streaming through the clouds  
_ _That break with light the surface of the sea._

_“Here, where I trace your body with my hand,  
_ _Love's presence has no end;  
_ _For these, your arms that hold me, are the world's.  
_ _In us, the continents, clouds and oceans meet  
_ _Our arbitrary selves, extensive with the night,  
_ _Lost, in the heart's worship, and the body's sleep.”_  

Morgan felt as though it perfectly summarized her feelings, as though the poet had delved into her brain where it merged with her heart and found the emotions to which she could not give words. She closed the book and sent it to quietly squeeze into its new spot on one of the bookshelves flanking the fireplace. As she’d read, Minerva had fallen asleep, hands resting on Morgan’s knee in front of her head. 

Morgan continued to stroke her fingers through the long glossy strands of Minerva’s hair, enjoying the silken feel of the thick mass. Idly, she thought that she could spend the rest of her life in these small, quiet moments. She only hoped she would have the opportunity once Minerva’s older self found out who she really was. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, maneuvering her way up off the sofa. 

With a quick bit of wandwork, she transfigured the small sofa into a comfortable bed, summoning the quilt from Minerva’s bed and covering her with it. Concentrating on the memory of Minerva, flushed and glistening during one of their shared showers, she summoned Charlotte and left her to watch over the sleeping form on the sofa-bed, a message hidden within to let her know she wouldn’t be alone long if she awoke. Morgan didn’t want to leave her, but the afternoon was about to begin, and they hadn’t left any food in the flat since they were going to be gone for three days. If they wanted to eat supper, Morgan had some shopping to do. 

She hurried through her errands and came back with enough food to last several days, unwilling to leave Minerva again until she went back to the future. Minerva had slept through the entire excursion, and with a smile, Morgan dispelled her patronus and slipped into the transfigured bed, settling behind her softly snoring lover. 

The next few days passed all too quickly for both women. They spent their time engrossed in each other, trying to make up for all the time they were slated to be apart. In their final twenty-four hours together, Morgan began to notice a growing stiffness to Minerva. She still threw herself into their amorous activities with abandon, but when they were otherwise occupied, her back was straighter, and there was a distant look in her eyes. All she needed was to put her hair in a tight bun and don a set of forbidding green and black robes and a pair of square-framed glasses, and Morgan could see her strict professor taking over, much in the same way she pulled together her “pureblood persona” when dealing with those she thought might not see her as good enough. 

Watching her Min turn herself systematically into the person she would end up becoming over the course of her life, Morgan realized that she was the reason for it. She was the reason her Professor McGonagall had always seemed so cold and aloof. In all the years that Minerva had taught Hermione Granger the ins and outs of Transfiguration and how to be a Witch, she had been living without Morgan, and this façade was how she dealt with it. 

The realization broke her heart all over again, and she disappeared into the bathroom for a solo shower to cover all evidence of the tears that swallowed her. The shower gave her time to get her grief out and to compose herself, exiting with a smile on her face and a renewed determination to make whatever time she had with this Min count as much as possible. 

But first, it was time for her to leave. She needed to get back to her Werewolf research and deal with the consequences of her actions on that last Sunday. Harry would be demanding explanations she didn’t have, and there was the aftermath of that unplanned kiss with Minerva to worry over as well. She’d left a right mess behind her, and it was time to clean it up. 

She packed her things quickly, not wanting to drag things out unnecessarily. It was finally time to go, and she didn’t want to delay herself any more. 

She cradled Minerva’s head between her hands, kissed away the salty evidence of the state of her emotions, and whispered a final “I love you” against her cheek. Her hands fell, and she took a step back, followed by two more. Concentrating on the snow-covered terrain where they’d watched the Christmas snow together, she disapparated with a crack, leaving Minerva to crumple to the floor, unable to stop herself from wailing her heartache, one hand gripping tightly to the locket hanging around her neck. 

As soon as her feet sank into the deepening snow to meet the frozen ground beneath, Morgan whispered “ _Arj_ ” and disappeared from 1946 for the last time. 

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taistealaiche – Traveler. Mairead may not know that Morgan travels through time, but her mistaken belief that she is apparating in over extremely long distances is why she chooses to call her by that pet name.
> 
> Regarding Kathleen Raine and her books of poetry, she did have two volumes published by the time Hermione purchased them for Minerva, but I’m not actually sure if the poem I referenced (Love Poem) was in either volume. I have another of hers I may use later, but again, I’m unsure as to when either was actually published. Creative license.
> 
> My apologies that this has taken so long, but such is life, or so the French say. Special thanks go out to Behindthebook08 for being a generally awesome human being and for helping me with a special project.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=======================HG/MM=======================

As soon as she reappeared in her own time, Hermione was startled by a deep voice greeting her from behind, accompanied by the soft click of her front door latching closed.

“So, this is how she knows you in the past? This is the woman who went back and changed history to save her own legislative work after telling me that I can’t go, even glamoured and under the cloak, to see my parents happy and ALIVE for just one time?”

Hermione spun around, eyes and mouth wide open and wand raised. In a split second, the pale length of wood flew from her hand to land with a soft thump in Harry’s outstretched one. His voice held notes of bitterness and hurt, and no small amount of anger as he spoke again. “Nice. Of course she would need to use a different wand than you do, wouldn’t she? I suppose you’ve thought of everything, as usual.” His emerald gaze flicked back up from the wand to her face. “She’s quite pretty, you know. In years past, before I fell for Luna, she might have even been my type. Interesting to know that old McGonagall and I could share a similar taste in women, but then it’s been interesting to find that she has a taste for females at all.”

Although he hadn’t cast any immobilizing charms, Hermione found that she was completely incapable of movement as she listened to his diatribe.

“What’s wrong, Hermione? Has the cat got your tongue?” He giggled and snorted, quite out of character in his bitter rage, and reminding Hermione of Bellatrix in her mirthful insanity. “I think it’s time that you explain yourself.” The laughter disappeared and his visage hardened. “You apparently went back and saved Remus and Tonks – good on you for that, by the way. I at least have one of my parents’ friends left, but you _won’t_ – don’t think I don’t remember what you said. You _won’t_ take me to see their wedding, not you _can’t_ do it. I think I deserve an explanation.”

She took a couple steps and sank, slouching into one of the wing-back chairs flanking her fireplace, eyes closing wearily. “I don’t have one, Harry.” Her right hand rose and pressed fingers to her temple, rubbing in gentle circles.

Disarmed by her words, Harry followed suit, anger deflating as he nearly fell into the opposing chair. “Blimey, even your voice is different.”

“Hmm? Oh, right.” Waving her free hand, she wandlessly dispelled all of her glamours, her features melting back to those with which she’d been born. “Better?”

“I suppose, but Hermione, I really do need to understand how Remus and Tonks were possible, but a little jump back to give me just one good memory of my parents isn’t. I mean, you even told me that day that you couldn’t save anyone and you couldn’t kill anyone. What gives?” He sounded sad and broken, and there were the beginnings of tears hovering at the edge of his eyes.

“I honestly don’t know, Harry. I haven’t done it yet.”

“What?”

“Here’s what happened, okay? I am working on the Werewolf legislation, that’s true. In my research, I was thinking about the Wolfsbane and what changes might be made to it. I contacted Professor Stroulger, and he set me up with Statira – your cousin. To prepare for the meeting, since I had never brewed the potion before, I went up to Hogwarts to speak with Severus’ portrait about how to brew it and any research he may have done on improving it.”

“Severus?” He interrupted with eyebrows raised in surprise.

She shrugged and blushed lightly. “We talked for an awfully long time, Harry, and by the end, he invited me – with Minerva’s suggestion – to call him by his given name. Anyway, I stayed after for dinner with Min, and we were talking about Remus and Tonks and both realized that we’d never been to their funerals and didn’t even know where they were buried. So I contacted Andy and asked if I could come for a visit. When I got there and asked about them, she gave me a letter from myself – my future self. I still have to go through the process. I don’t know how or why it’s possible, but it’s in what I said, Harry. ‘I can’t save anyone – _who was proven to have died_.’ I had proof, in the form of their living bodies and in this letter, that they actually lived, which makes it possible to go back and save them. It’s a bit of circular logic, but that’s how it works.”

Harry thought back to his only experience with the Time-Turner, when they’d saved Sirius from the Dementors and the Ministry and Buckbeak from Macnair’s axe. _Circular logic._ He thought that was actually the best description he’d heard for time travel.

“Circular logic.” His voice came out in a monotone, betraying the hurt that his anger and her actions had left behind.

“I’m sorry, Harry. You know if it was possible – truly possible – without risking the entire timeline, I would show you their entire lives. I would let you meet your grandparents. I would let you meet your parents. I would let you save them all and give yourself an entirely different childhood.” She moved from her chair to kneel in front of him, her right hand pressed against his damp cheek as her eyes searched his. “All of these things I would do for you,” she continued softly, “because you are my _best friend_ and I love you more than anything, but I just can’t. It’s too dangerous. It’s dangerous enough what I risk taking myself back to be with Minerva, but there’s something inside me – something I can’t explain – that says that if I don’t continue on this path, I risk more with whatever minor changes I may make by going than if I never went at all.”

“I do understand, Hermione. Honestly, I do. It just hurts that you may be able to see them, to meet them, to be a part of their lives, and I never will.”

“I know. My plans are to be there for Min, but to avoid the rest of the world as much as possible, so it’s entirely likely that I’ll never know them either, if that helps at all.”

He laughed bitterly, the sound escaping his throat short and harsh. “It doesn’t. Not really. But it’s a good plan. Of course we know what usually happens with your plans.”

She pulled her hand away from his cheek, and used it to slap his shoulder as she stood up. “Yeah, yeah. _‘We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.’_ Whatever, Harry, the plans are still good.” They shared a grin at the old running joke. “Now get up here and hug me before you go back to your beautiful pregnant fiancée.” She took a step back to give him room, and he got up from the chair, wrapping his arms around his oldest friend. Her hands met in the middle of his back, and they squeezed each other hard, her cheek pressed into his sweater, his resting against her loose chestnut curls.

“I love you, Harry.” Her voice was muffled from his sweater, but he heard her perfectly.

Tightening his hold on her, he replied, “Love you, too, ‘Mione.”

They remained in the embrace for several minutes before breaking apart and laughing lightly at each other’s tear-stained faces. Harry apologized for his earlier behavior, and Hermione dismissed it as yet another in a long line of spats between friends. He kissed her cheek, gathered his things, and left via Floo to get back to Luna at the CM.

Hermione sorted out the possessions in her bag, tossing laundry into the hamper to be dealt with later, rearranging the various books, parchments, and other belongings that stayed in the bag on a permanent basis, and checking the small case which housed the Magical Replenishment Serum that she kept with her during all of her time-travel experiences. She doubted she’d ever need it, given the nature of her visits, but it never hurt to be prepared. It was still in perfect condition, and the potion within wasn’t anywhere near its expiration date. It still swirled green and purple and red, with arcs of lightning flashing from within. She resealed the little wooden box, waiting for the hiss to pass before carefully stowing it back into the side pocket from which she’d pulled it.

Unpacked and still freshly showered, she undressed and slid between her cool sheets, breathing in blissfully at the feel of the fabric moving across her bare skin. She lay there on her back, hands behind her head, thinking about the other things she had left to fix from before her trip. Harry was out of the way, at least, as surprising as that had been, but she still had that unplanned kiss with Minerva to deal with.

How in the hell was she going to fix that? Why had she initiated the kiss to begin with? What had she been thinking?

She could come up with no solutions, lying there in the dark as she tossed and turned. The hours passed and she fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of dark green eyes, long black hair, and faces that shifted between the fresh, unmarked visage of her Min and the older, slightly lined, battle-forged features of her Professor and Mentor.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hundreds of miles away, Minerva finally dragged herself up from the floor and moved mechanically through her bedroom to the private bath on the other side. She left her clothes on the floor and stepped into the shower, the hot water washing away the tension in her muscles and all evidence of her earlier tears.

She couldn’t figure out why Hermione had kissed her, why she’d kissed her back, or how things had gotten so complicated over the last few months. She was angry with Hermione, angry with Morgan, and angry with herself most of all. She needed to figure out how to get things back to the way they were before that blasted damn mistletoe kiss. She needed to squash these feelings she was having for Hermione, at least until she had more concrete information on Morgan and her whereabouts.

But how in the hell was she supposed to do any of it? She loved Morgan with all her being, and had for sixty years; that was never going to change, but these burgeoning feelings for Hermione reminded her so much of how quickly she’d fallen for Morgan all those years ago. Knowing the woman as well as she did – having watched her grow up in the midst of the growing war with Voldemort and then pass the veil from adolescence into adulthood seamlessly – she could easily see herself falling just as deeply for Hermione as she ever had for Morgan, and that scared her to death. Cheating just wasn’t something she could bring herself to do, and until she had some kind of release from Morgan, she just couldn’t entertain these kinds of thoughts for anyone else.

When she was finished, she dried herself with a quick charm and pulled her hair into a braid for sleep. She pulled a long nightgown over her head and sank into her comfortable bed. As she drifted away, she had another flash of that strange face she’d seen in her dreams before; the one that combined the features of both Morgan and Hermione and filled her with such warmth and calmness. _If only they could be the same person_ was the last thought to pass through her mind before she fell to Morpheus’ sweet oblivion.

=======================HG/MM=======================

As is its very nature, time passed. Hermione met with Statira, and they began researching the various ways certain ingredients could be changed, processes could be adjusted, and progress on improving the Wolfsbane potion was made.

The news broke about the resurrection of Remus and Tonks, and they were all the talk of the British Wizarding world. Tonks, unable to sit still for long, began training with several top Aurors, including Harry, trying to reclaim her former position in the DMLE. Remus met with as many members of the Werewolf population as he could, and sent several people to Hermione and Statira to assist with testing their improved potions.

In a gesture that caused both men to stammer nervously from the sweep of emotion, Harry transferred a large sum of galleons into the Lupin vault, claiming it was no less than Sirius would have given him if things had been different. The stigma surrounding Remus and his Lycanthropy was still strong, and he would always struggle to find work, as long as the affliction remained. The bequest from Sirius, through Harry, would go a long way towards helping to support his family until something could be done.

A few days after the next full moon, a week after they’d been woken, Remus made a trip up to Hogwarts. His last memory of the castle had it in a massive state of disrepair during the battle, and his heart was brightened by seeing it back in perfect shape as it had been back when he was a student. He had a tearful reunion with those professors he had worked with, and with those who had taught him as well when he’d been a student. They were all curious as to how events had unfolded to make his revival possible, and he told them what he could, but a large portion of it was still unclear to him as well.

After the meeting was over, everyone filed out of Minerva’s office, Remus staying behind for a private dinner with his former Head of House and colleague. The two of them left the office and its portraits behind and went into her private sitting room, settling comfortably into the chairs flanking the fireplace and soaking up the warmth of the cheerfully crackling conflagration.

“How are things with Teddy since you’ve come back?” There had been a tightness behind Minerva’s voice and mannerisms since he’d arrived earlier that had relaxed a little once they were alone, but it was still hovering there, making him wonder what was going on.

“He’s always known we weren’t going to be gone forever. Andy never lied to him about who we were and what was going on. So even though he doesn’t really _know_ us, it’s maybe a bit easier than it would have been. He’s a lovely child. Energetic, of course, as all seven year old boys are, and bloody smart thanks to Andy and his Muggle nursery school. He’s adjusting faster than we are, I think, which is … frightening, if I’m being honest. At least he doesn’t seem to have been touched with my lunar issues. That was my worst nightmare when Dora told me she was pregnant, and my biggest relief after I woke.”

A quiet pop announced the arrival of their tea tray, their conversation interrupted by the pouring and preparation of their cups while Minerva asked for two plates to be brought up when it was time.

Sipping deeply from his cup, he relaxed back into the chair, noticing again the underlying tension in Minerva’s frame. “So, how are things for you since I’ve been gone, Minerva?”

“Oh, I’m as well as ever. A few years older, and I find that I wish sometimes they’d promoted Filius and left me in the classroom. The paperwork and politics behind being the school’s head is enough to make me want to bury my head in the proverbial sand sometimes.” A wry smile twisted her lips for a moment as she sipped at her own tea.

“Remembering all the reports I had to write as a teacher, I can see how that would be true.”

“Oh, and the paperwork and reports that you lot used to _generate_ as students! Thank Merlin I’ve at least not had to deal with any new generations like yours or the Weasley twins as Headmistress. You were enough to make me almost go back on a promise I made once to never allow students to cause me to rip out my hair, or I’d have huge chunks of it still missing.”

“I imagine we did cause quite the parchment shortage in our heyday.” He smiled gently and took another sip of tea. “You actually promised someone to never pull your hair out?”

“Oh, aye. Just before I started teaching. Mo…y,” she dragged out the vowel sound to cover her near miss, “my friend was quite attached to my hair, and made me promise that no ‘dunderheaded hooligans’ would make me touch even a single strand. Only they were allowed that privilege.”

Having used the non-gender specific plurals in his time, he quirked an eyebrow, surprised to hear the deflection coming from Minerva, of all people. He didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but he did seize the opportunity to tease her a bit. “So _they_ were the only person allowed, eh? You had one into hair-pulling? How exciting.” His grin grew exponentially at the gentle coloring of her face at his soft inflection on the pronoun and playful words.

“Indeed,” she managed to utter from behind her teacup.

Just barely holding his full laughter back, he chuckled. “Do you know it took me months after I left here to stop referring to Sirius with the anonymous ‘they’ and start just saying ‘him’? I feel like I was just really getting used to the idea of actually telling people for sure to quash the rumors when he fell through the veil.” They both sobered up at the mention of Sirius, but the pressure of the moment fell to the side as he continued. “Sorry, but the point I was making is that I don’t have to know who she was, Minerva, if you’re uncomfortable with that, but you don’t have to hide your pronouns. Living in those shadows isn’t necessary with me.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone learned that truth, Remus. I’m sure you’ll forgive me if it takes a while.” There was a pit of nerves growing in her stomach at the hidden knowledge coming out. “It wasn’t something that was talked about when I met … her, or at any other point in our relationship. Very few people know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Of course. I would never do that to anyone. So,” he continued, leaning further back into the chair, “ _she_ was …?”

“She was … _is_ … everything.”

“Still?”

“I haven’t seen her in some time, but yes. Still.”

“And she liked your hair?”

Minerva rolled her eyes at his cheek before arching one eyebrow sharply upwards, staring at him intensely from over the top of her glasses. “She did, and since I’m seeing a line of questioning coming that I’d like to head off, I will only say this: we had an interesting, varied, and extremely fun life in bed, which may or may not have resulted in or from the pulling of either my hair or hers at times. Now stop acting like Sirius and James and quit pestering an old woman about her romantic history.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her, causing her to flush again. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, Minerva, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down.”

“Nor will you now, as you’re being impertinent,” she quipped with a snort.

Their banter was interrupted by another soft pop as their dinner arrived. They joked while they ate, and Remus noticed a lessening in the tension in her frame, but there was still something bothering her. Still, she was more relaxed than when he’d arrived, so he wouldn’t press for more. As he bade her farewell, wanting to get home before Teddy’s bedtime, for the first time in all the years he’d known her, he was pulled into a tight hug. Squeezing back as hard as he dared, he breathed in the subtle scents that surrounded her, relishing in the contact with the woman he had most associated with motherhood after his own mum had died while he was in school.

As he began the long walk down to the gates, he called back to her, “You know, it is now one of my life’s goals to see your hair down, right?”

She only sputtered in response, causing him to guffaw loudly as he walked. “Good night, Minerva!”

She shook her head slowly, lips turning up softly, and raised a hand to wave, “Good night, Remus. Safe travels, you impudent boy.”

When he passed from her sight, she turned to go back inside, smiling to herself. They had been friends for a long time, she and Remus, but she felt like they’d turned a corner that night from casual friends to something deeper. She didn’t know who she needed to thank for making sure that he and his wife had survived the final battle, but she owed whoever it was a huge debt.

Discussing Morgan with Remus had made her start to ache for her again, and had brought her conflict with Hermione back to the forefront of her mind. She sighed as she climbed the staircases leading up to the entrance to her quarters. She hadn’t heard from Hermione since that last disastrous meeting, and as much as she wanted to see her young friend, she knew it was a bad idea until she could properly compartmentalize her feelings and stop sending out inappropriate signals. She needed to deal with the situation, but how?

=======================HG/MM=======================

The results of their first round of testing weren’t promising in the least, and one of the four tested variations had nearly killed one unfortunate woman, but thanks to the quick reflexes of their resident Healer, she’d been spared. Hermione felt horrible about the woman’s near-demise, but her inner pragmatist reminded her that at least they knew the changes they’d made to that batch could be scrapped.

One wall of her office had been turned into what appeared to the untrained eye as a mass of squiggles and colored lines, a far cry from the calm beige it had been before. To the casual Arithmancer, it would have been obvious that it was some form of equation working itself out, but it would have still been mostly incomprehensible. Hermione, however, was far from a casual Arithmancer, and the equations were hers.

She had quantified the Lycanthropy contagion with a set of numbers and runes, and these equations had merged together with the symbol for human life, forming the basis for all the rest, stemming from the left side of the wall in a dark red-black line that represented a Werewolf. On the far right side were two corresponding quantitative equations, one still red-black, but much brighter, indicating one desired result: calm, self-controlled Werewolves. The other was the color of bright copper-tanged blood, almost crimson in its shade, and there was no black tinge left to it, representing the ultimate goal: a person who had been bitten, infected, and _cured_. It was the color of pure human life without the taint of the contagion.

Each of the proposed potion changes was represented with a differently-colored line, according to its chemical composition, quantified into an equation. In the middle, they all fought with the black line which represented the pure taint of the Lycanthropy contagion, trying to neutralize it or eradicate it completely. The ones which had shown the most promise of reaching either of the desired outcomes were the ones they’d tested on the last Full Moon. Using her wand as a piece of chalk on the simulated blackboard, she input the actual results of the tests, again quantified into working Arithmantic equations. The black line seemed to pulse malevolently at the new data, and how ineffective they had all been in their real battles against that which it represented.

“Laugh now, Lyke. Eventually, I will see the end of you and what you represent, and there will have been no sweeter moment in my whole miserable existence.” She knew some people would call her crazy for talking to an Arithmantic function, or for naming the dark representation so she _could_ talk to it, but in her own head, it all made perfect sense.

The new data having been input, the other proposed changes surged forward, the battle resuming between them and Lyke, as he tried to keep them from reaching the bright forms of the desired results. None of the remaining contenders were making it even as far as the least of the defeated variations, and none the ones they’d tested had come any further than three-fourths of the way down the line which represented the current working Wolfsbane formula.

It was too bad Arithmancy could only deal with probabilities based on existing chemical formulaic equations. If only it could take the data and say, “Here, make a Potion that has this chemical structure. This is the one which will work. Go make it,” things would be vastly simpler. As things stood, however, it did help predict what _should_ work and what should _not_.

Based on the tests, their results, and the other, untested variations, she and Statira could use logic and deductive reasoning to alter the existing recipes, convert the recipes into their chemical compositions, and from there, in another month, they would test another batch, and keep going in that manner until something managed to get through Lyke to one of the simulacra on the right side of the wall. It would work. Someday. With Remus’ return, she was more motivated than ever to solve the problem.

She had been back a few times to check in on Remus and Tonks, spending part of her evening visiting with them, getting to know them as mutual adults rather than as the brainy, bookish friend of Harry’s that she’d been in their early acquaintance. As an adult, she found that Tonks had a sharper wit than she’d noticed as a teenager, and that Remus had a sensuousness that he’d hidden as a Professor and later, as an Order mentor. The two of them together seemed like they always needed to be touching. It was subtle, but constant, and it warmed her heart every time she noticed.

In her last visit, he had mentioned going up to the school and that something had seemed to be bothering Minerva, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. She tried to hide her response, but Remus noticed her ongoing distress and asked what was wrong. She deflected, saying only that they’d had a minor disagreement, which prompted them to question the relationship between herself and Minerva. She told them a certain amount of truth, that they’d become close when Hermione had been back for her final year of school, and had been meeting once a month ever since, but she schooled her expressions the way she had become accustomed when applying her “pureblood persona” in the past, and refused to go into any further detail.

She would not burden any more of their friends with the knowledge of what else was going on. It wasn’t fair to those keeping the secret, and it wasn’t fair to Minerva to tell a bunch of people when she couldn’t be told herself.

She must have done an acceptable job with the persona adoption, because both Remus and Tonks seemed to accept what she said as the truth.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Oblivious to all of the struggles going on for Hermione and Minerva, time continued on her course and the Earth made progress in its orbit around the sun. Statira had brought up more permutations for the Wolfsbane, Hermione had added them to the Arithmantic calculations, and based on the results, they began to brew their next batches of potion. One recipe looked a bit more promising than the others, but its line, colored a dull silvery-grey, still didn’t reach as far as the original Wolfsbane line.

When the twentieth of March came, bringing with it a long-standing scheduled meeting with Minerva, for the first time in six years, Hermione sent a brief note to Hogwarts in her place. She knew how hurt and angry Minerva had been, and was unsure as to whether she’d be welcome. Nor did she know what to say to try and smooth things over, and so all-in-all, it was easier to just stay away.

Instead, she had set up a dinner party, inviting Harry and Luna, Remus and Tonks, Neville and Ginny, and the Twins, along with Statira. Fred was bringing Angelina, but George was coming alone again, and Hermione had the fleeting thought that maybe he would get on with Harry’s cousin. She had also invited Ron to come along, but he had a dinner meeting with the mysterious new owner of the Pride to start working out the details of his new contract. Harry had given him a strange look at the unusually formal clothing he’d been wearing when he left, and when his ears had started to redden in embarrassment just before he dashed through the Floo, Harry had laughed it off as a crush on whoever the new owner was, or perhaps their secretary, or the solicitor who was making sure the contract was air-tight.

Everyone else had arrived for the party when Statira finally showed up, much to the delight of both Harry and Tonks. Harry had met with his cousin a couple times since Hermione had discovered the connection, and they got on well. Tonks had been a year ahead of Statira at Hogwarts, and although they’d been in different Houses, they had met as Prefects and formed a friendship. With the resurgence of the war and Tonks’ Auror and Order duties and Statira’s relocation for her Apprenticeship, they had lost touch, but were pleased to be reunited after so long.

Everyone was a bit surprised to hear that Harry had a cousin from his mum’s side of the family who not only was a decent person, but also had magic. They were all sitting around the fire with drinks in hand while dinner finished cooking in the kitchen when Fred broached the subject of her magic, asking, “So does that make you a Muggle-born like Lily?”

“No, I’m a half-blood. My dad, Harry’s mum’s cousin, was a Muggle, but Mother was a Pureblood. Her family wasn’t half-pleased when she married a Muggle, but her dad was the last male of the line, so they didn’t disown her or anything. If she’d had a brother or male cousin, she likely would have been.”

Hermione had shot Fred a hard look when he asked the question, wondering yet again why the Wizarding world was so hung up on bloodlines, but Statira’s tone was light and easy as she spoke, revealing her comfort with the subject, allowing Hermione to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I didn’t mean to offend with the question. I just thought it would have been interesting if your family had produced two such powerful Muggle-born witches so close together,” Fred clarified, trying to assuage the ire he knew Hermione would be feeling after he asked the question.

“Oh, I didn’t take it offensively. That _would_ have been extremely interesting,” Statira laughed. “As it stands, Mother’s family would have been extremely offended if you hadn’t asked. The Prince family was always ever so proud of their magical heritage.”

The silence that fell was so complete that if someone had dropped a straight-pin, they would all have been able to hear it hit the floor, carpet notwithstanding.

“Did…” A pale Harry cleared his throat, speaking with a shaking voice, “Did you say Prince?”

Confused at the reaction, Statira replied warily, “Yes. Mother was Wilhelmina Prince before she married, though she always went by Billie. Why?”

“I… We just knew another Prince once.” After Snape had revealed his identity as the half-blood prince to Harry, he’d told them all about it, and none had failed to make the connection.

“Oh? I never knew much about the family. They didn’t disown her, but neither did they keep in contact. Who was it?”

They were all hesitant to reveal the long-held secret, but finally it was Hermione who spoke up, her voice clear and ringing in the awkward silence, “Professor Snape.”

=======================HG/MM=======================

The rest of the dinner party had passed with much discussion of Snape and the oddity of old Pureblood family connections. Hermione was happy to pass the night in the company of her closest friends, but there was a part of her missing. In her mind, she kept seeing the seat at the other end of the table filled with Minerva’s presence, everyone accepting of everyone else, an easy camaraderie existing between all of them. It wasn’t an impossible scenario, but she just couldn’t see the path that would take her from where was to where she wanted to be.

Alone in her cold bed later that night, she allowed her tears free license to flow. She wanted so badly to see Minerva, to hear her voice, to run her fingers through that long ebony curtain. She knew she could go back and do all these things any time she wanted, but she promised herself after her last trip that she would never seek out Min in response to a disagreement with Minerva again. So she refused to give herself that comfort until she could work through things with Minerva.

Instead, she laid there in the darkness and cried herself to sleep.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Another week crawled by, bringing no resolution to her problems. The full moon had come and gone, bringing another round of testing to a close. The results had been added to the calculations in Hermione’s office, and as expected, the variant with the greyish line had made the most progress, but still fell far short of the mark. She and Statira were now looking at that formula in more depth, trying to figure out what they could do to the recipe to make it more effective.

It was the Monday just following Easter, and Hermione was seated behind her desk, looking through the recipes with a critical eye, trying her best to come up with an idea to present to her brewing partner, and cursing her own lack of intuition when it came to Potions as an art. She was doing her best to keep up with the woman who was a Master of her craft, but she had long known that her talents lay outside of this particular discipline. Still, she wanted to contribute, so she continued to slog through the ingredients and instructions for procedure and equipment, trying to find something she could present to Statira in their next meeting.

As she frowned down at the parchments, muttering profanities at them under her breath, the small fireplace in the corner next to the door flared to life with a flash of green, spitting out a sheet of paper, folded magically into the perfect airplane, before dying again. The missive hovered over her inbox before unfolding to reveal an envelope sealed with a dollop of bright blue wax, then falling into the bin with a light thump.

Picking up the envelope curiously, she was surprised to see the official Hogwarts seal pressed into the wax. She broke the seal and pulled out the sheet of parchment within, surprised to see a short letter on formal Hogwarts stationary.

_To Hermione Granger,_  
Mistress of Transfiguration and Charms  
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures  
British Ministry of Magic

_Mistress Granger,_

_Would you be so kind as to join Headmistress McGonagall and me for dinner tonight? The school has been presented with a problem for which the staff agrees you to be the best solution. Details will be presented over dinner, should you choose to accept the invitation._

_Poppy Pomfrey,_  
Mistress of the Healing Arts  
Healing Matron  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

It was an odd letter to receive, especially from Poppy. The school was facing some kind of problem that apparently only she could resolve? Her curiosity was piqued. Hopefully she and Minerva could set aside their conflict for the night, so she could see what was going on and find out what she could do to help.

She penned a quick response and sent it back to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, as the initial note had come from Poppy. A glance at her wristwatch revealed that it was late enough to head on home, where she could prepare for a tense night with Minerva. Maybe this would be just the forced contact that would begin to set things right between them again.

=======================HG/MM=======================

A few hours later, Hermione pressed her hand to the sigil on the gates, smiling fondly as they swung silently inward to allow her access. On the long walk up the path to the castle, she cast yet another critical glance at herself, hoping that she had done enough to look professional and open without completely suppressing her femininity.

She wore black trousers with a thin grey pinstripe, a fitted white silk Oxford shirt with sleeves long against the lingering chill in the late March evening, and a nicely cut waistcoat in the same material as the trousers, the back a solid black silk. Her hair had been tamed and left down, the sides pulled back and secured with a pair of glossy black combs. On her feet were the same heels she’d worn to the dinner party she’d thrown in January, but she’d charmed them black for the evening, leaving only the soles and heels their original white. She topped it all off with a cloak patterned with small black and white houndstooth checks, and to the casual observer, she could have been classified as elegance in shades of grey, which was exactly the aesthetic she’d wanted.

She reached the large oaken doors to the castle, and stepping inside, she breathed in the smell of dust and clean wood smoke that permeated the castle, blended with the mouth-watering scents wafting up from the kitchens and through the open doors to the Great Hall. There weren’t many students in residence over the Easter Holiday, but the elven kitchen staff never faltered in their dedication to providing perfect meals for whoever was present.

“Hermione!” She was greeted by a bustling Madam Pomfrey, sent down to escort her up, as though she needed directions to Minerva’s office or personal quarters.

“Poppy,” she smiled and leaned in for a twin set of kisses to the cheek. “You didn’t need to come down. I know my way to Minerva’s rooms by now.”

“Oh, I know, but we aren’t going to her rooms.”

Hermione tilted her head to one side quizzically as they climbed stairs. “Where are we going then?”

“Mine. I know you’re dying to know what’s going on, but just bear with me and we’ll all talk together.”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” the Mediwitch nodded and kept climbing. “You look very nice tonight, by the way.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to dress, but given the tone of your note, I thought it best to keep things professional.” She blushed lightly at the compliment, still not used to accepting them, especially from those who had once held power over her.

“You needn’t have gone to so much trouble, but it’s nice to see someone out of uniforms and stiff teaching robes.” Poppy’s nose crinkled a bit at her description of what she normally got to see people wear, and Hermione laughed throatily.

“Happy to oblige, then, Poppy.”

The rest of the ascent to the second floor was passed in amiable conversation, as was the trek through the corridors down to the Hospital Wing. Poppy escorted her through a portrait door located just past the double doors through which Hermione had been far too often over the course of her education.

Poppy’s sitting room was filled with furniture covered in embroidered chintz in various pastel shades, and everything seemed to be dripping in lace; delicate doilies were draped over the back of the sofa and the chairs, and placed underneath pastel glazed stone crockery to prevent scratches on the gleaming wood surfaces. It should have been overwhelming with the pale pinks and greens and white everywhere, but instead, it felt warm and comforting and welcoming, like a visit to your grandparents’ house when you’re a small child.

Hermione’s cloak was taken and hung from a peg by the door, and she was told to have a seat while Poppy went to retrieve Minerva. She sat in the chair close to the fire, wondering at the conspicuously empty place where the opposing chair should have been, though the reason behind its absence was made painfully clear a moment later, when Poppy came back through the door leading to the medical ward pushing Minerva in an old-fashioned high-backed wicker wheelchair.

She looked pale and drawn, and far weaker than Hermione had ever seen her, swallowed by the chair and the chintzy quilt over her lap. Her hair was down in a looser version of her normal sleeping braid, and there were dark bags under her eyes, visible even at the strange angle at which her head rested, long, graceful fingers holding it up, two fingers on her forehead and her thumb pressed under the high cheekbone on the right side of her face.

Hermione managed to keep herself from jumping up and exclaiming loudly when they entered the room, waiting while Poppy pushed the chair into the empty spot next to the fire.

“Are you okay?” She spoke softly, worried about the answer and about Minerva.

Minerva’s hand dropped and she lifted her head, sighing in resignation. She hated discussing her health or any sort of personal business with anyone, and while talking about those kinds of things felt better with Hermione than with just about anyone else, the fact remained that they were on the outs, and things were uncomfortable. “No, but I shall be well soon. We had a student come back early because of a Dragon Pox outbreak at home. He didn’t come back quickly enough, however, and he and a few others have contracted it as a result. I had an inoculation years ago, so I wasn’t affected quite as badly as others.”

“Dragon Pox?” Hermione’s eyes went wild. Dragon Pox was one of the most dangerous diseases in the magical world, children and those over sixty years of age particularly susceptible to the contagion.

“Don’t worry, Hermione, it’s past the point of being transmissible by now or we wouldn’t have allowed you to come.” Poppy’s voice was gentle as she seated herself on the sofa.

Hermione swallowed past the large lump that had formed in her throat. “No, I wasn’t worried about that. How many were infected?”

“Six, including Minerva.”

“And no … casualties?”

“No, not at all.”

Hermione breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“But a couple are in a rough place with it right now, and are facing a longer recuperation than we’d anticipated, which is the reason we’ve asked you here tonight. Filius was never inoculated, and his Goblin heritage makes him resistant to the treatments.”

Minerva was strangely quiet through the exchange, but Hermione could feel the tension between them through the silence. “Oh, no. Will he be alright?” The diminutive Charms professor had always been one of her favorites.

“I expect so, yes, but he won’t be back on his feet and able to teach again by the time the students return from their holiday this coming weekend. Septima and Marcus have agreed to share the Head of House duties while he recovers, but we need someone to cover his classes for a week or two, and since you have your Charms Mastery, the staff all agreed that you would be the best person to help us out.”

Hermione was stunned by the request. “But I have a job, and I’m very busy with my current project. I’d love to help out, but I don’t see how I can.”

Finally Minerva spoke up, “I have corresponded with your department head, and he assured us that while your current project is very important, the vast majority of what you’re doing could be done from here as well as from the Ministry, and I can grant Miss Evans full access to the castle so that your research can continue while you fill in for Filius.”

“It all seems to be buttoned up then. If Xero’s okay with it, and Statira can get in when she needs to so we can continue working, then I’d be delighted to fill in while Filius recovers.”

Poppy beamed at her from the sofa, and Minerva sighed in resignation, seeming to shrink further into her chair tiredly. It wasn’t that she thought Hermione incapable of teaching the class, and it wasn’t that she didn’t want Hermione in the castle. Six months earlier, or certainly a year before, she would have been delighted with the prospect, but Hermione had never skipped a visit then. They had never shared a kiss or a moment of intimacy, and the tension which now thickened the air between them had never existed. She was still feeling hurt and confused, trying to deal with the chemistry that was now blindingly obvious between them, where before, it had never crossed her mind.

Lost in thought, she missed as Poppy and Hermione finished ironing out the details over dinner that they and Filius had tentatively outlined earlier, her attention only returning to the happily chattering women when she felt Hermione’s hand slide gently over hers. Green eyes rose to meet brown questioningly, and Hermione leaned in to ghost a kiss over Minerva’s temple, murmuring against her skin that they could talk later if she would allow it, perhaps when Hermione returned to settle into her temporary rooms on Friday? Minerva nodded grimly, knowing the discussion was over a month in coming, but still not knowing exactly how to handle the situation without either betraying Morgan or hurting – and possibly losing – one of her closest friends. Her heart was aching, the pain leaching up into her head, and as Sunny was called to lead Hermione to her quarters, the slight creases and wrinkles radiating out from her eyes deepened, her lips tightening together until they formed a razor-thin line.

Poppy wheeled her back into the back room of the Hospital Wing, set aside for ill teachers to separate them from the students, and after settling herself back into bed, she gave in and asked for a Headache Lifter, hoping that the draught would help her mind calm down and allow her the sweet oblivion of sleep.

While she waited for Poppy to retrieve the little turquoise vial, Filius asked from behind his curtain if things had gone well with Hermione.

“She has accepted the job, yes. You won’t have to worry about anyone else bungling up your class, and can concentrate on getting better. I expect she’ll be by to see you Saturday sometime to go over lesson plans, syllabi, and the like, if you’re feeling up to it.”

She smiled softly, closing her eyes at the excitement his voice displayed, even through his weak, fevered illness. A minute later, Poppy returned with her potion, and she downed it all in one gulp, grimacing at the flavor, but visibly relaxing as the headache began to dissipate. A whispered _Tempus_ told her that it was just past nine-thirty, and while she didn’t normally sleep so early, the pox, stress, and heartache combined with the pain potion and just as she’d hoped, she fell into a deep sleep, muttering her good-nights to Filius and Poppy.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Friday morning came, and Hermione was busily preparing for her brief tenure at Hogwarts. She had several nice sets of robes, but none that were exactly appropriate for teaching, so she had an appointment with Madam Malkin at ten to pick up three or four heavier robes, and then there was the packing of all her research materials, having already made arrangements for meeting with Statira while she was away. She popped into her office around nine, gathered everything and shoved it all into a Muggle rucksack that she’d expanded like her beaded bag, not wanting to take the smaller bag to Hogwarts and risk Minerva seeing it. She pulled out a nice-sized whiteboard she’d purchased at an office supply store the day before when she bought the rucksack, and transferred the Arithmantic calculations from her office wall to the gleaming white surface, protecting it from being wiped away, and then tucked it back into the pack.

Checking her wristwatch, she noted that it was nearly time for her appointment, so after a quick word with Xerophan, she headed out to Diagon Alley for the fitting. Two hours later, she exited the shop with five heavy woolen robes, all in black, but each with details and accents in varying jewel tones to complement her hair and skin. They had all been meticulously packed into garment boxes and placed in her new pack. She stopped for a quick lunch at a Muggle diner around the corner from the entrance to the Leaky, then ducked back into the pub and apparated North to Hogsmeade.

She still had some time before she had to be up at the castle, so she decided to wander around the village for a bit, her mind shrouded with thoughts of Minerva, the conversation to come with her that night, and her nerves over the daunting proposition of teaching for two weeks. She was good at learning, anyone could have told you that, and she’d always been good at helping her fellow students grasp the material when asked, but to stand in front of a classroom full of people and hold their attention long enough to get them interested in what she had to say was frightening.

Her stomach gurgled at her, the light lunch she’d had not quite filling, and she decided to pop into Honeydukes for a small sweet treat to serve as dessert. Maybe a small bar of the chocolate Remus had always favored would be just the thing she needed.

Her thoughts on Minerva, teaching, Remus, and the chocolate she was craving, she walked unseeing into the Honeydukes building, coming up short as she finally registered the distinct lack of candy on the shelves. In place of the sweets, there were instead colorful displays of jokes, games, and other, more useful items.

“Hermione!” The twin voices of Fred and George rang out happily from behind the counter.

“Boys! Have you taken over Honeydukes, or did I walk through the wrong door?” Hermione was surprised to see the Twins, but her heart lightened considerably as always when in their presence.

Fred spoke up first. “We bought the building next door and offered to trade. The shop next door was bigger, which suited the Flumes, and we now have access to the secret passage up to the school, and can protect it because we know it’s there, where they never did.”

“And I suppose you’re not planning on using said secret passage for student deliveries, are you?” Hermione crossed her arms, arched an eyebrow, and gave them a look that was so reminiscent of McGonagall peering over her glasses that both men burst out laughing.

“Oh, sweet merciful mini-McG! Hermione, of course we weren’t planning on that,” exclaimed George.

“But now that you mention it, it’s not a bad idea,” added Fred, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Don’t you dare, or I’ll tell Minerva what I know.” There was a little twinkle behind the glare this time, which the twins seized and ran with.

“But Hermione,” started Fred.

“What if we,” continued George.

“-bribed you?” they said in unison, cheeky looks on their matching faces.

“With what could you possibly entice me, boys?”

“Well,” they drawled out at length. George continued the thought alone, “thanks to requests made by certain people who shall remain nameless to protect their identities…”

“…And our safety,” interjected Fred.

“Yes, and to also protect our safety if we ever divulged that information,” they looked at each other, grimacing and blanching at the thought of what this mysterious person or people would do to them if anything ever leaked, “we have been working on a new line of products for the discerning witch or wizard.”

“We see these products being employed mostly by the female contingent of our customer base, but most would work equally well for men as well.” Fred continued to explain, both faces picking their color back up, a mischievous gleam beginning to spark up in their light brown eyes.

“And we know that you kicked ickle Ronnikins from your bed almost a year ago, and have since not been seen with anyone else, on top of that delightful bomb you dropped on me back in January.” George winked at her as he referenced her coming out at the dinner party.

She laughed in response, adding, “It’s not that I’m completely against the male portion of our species, boys, honestly, but I definitely lean more toward the other half.” She quirked her eyebrow back up at the matching grins that washed over the men’s faces before continuing. “It’s just that I’m in a bit of a long distance relationship at the moment. We don’t get to see each other terribly often, but even when we’re apart and I’m alone, I’m definitely not lonely, if that’s what you were getting at.”

“Yeah, you mentioned thinking you’d found ‘the one,’ but lonely or not, Hermione, you are alone, and so to bribe you, you’ll be one of the first people to see our newest line.”

She eyed them each warily before a light-bulb of inspiration lit up in her brain. “Please do not tell me you two are selling magical sex toys.”

“Oh, that’s right. You _do_ come from the Muggle world. Of course you’d know about the Muggle versions.” George worried at his bottom lip, all the fun gone out of trying to surprise and shock her.

“But that’s even better, brother-mine. If she’s familiar with the Muggle versions, she can tell us how much better our Magical versions are!” Fred chimed in happily.

The fun brought back, George’s smile returned full force. “Too true, Freddie, my best pal. Too true.”

“This is my bribe? A magically-enhanced sex toy? What makes you think I’d even be interested?”

“Because, Hermione. You have one trait which has always been the thing that draws you to us, even though in general, we should be everything you hate. We’re smart, but don’t spend all our time with books in front of our faces, choosing instead the practical applications of what we’ve learned, and the trial-and-error method, even to the point of human trials, because that’s the most expedient way to get the results we need. We’re successful without having sat for our NEWT exams, dropping out in the middle of seventh year instead. We are your complete antithesis, and yet we are no less good at what we do for it. You should hate us, loathe us, and sit scornful of us from your massive pile of books, parchments, and quills. Instead, you are inexplicably pulled in, drawn to our whimsy and fun, because one part of being a Gryffindor suffuses you more than any other. I actually think that if it hadn’t been for this one overwhelmingly Gryffindor trait, you’d have been relegated to Ravenclaw with the rest of the bookworms and brains.”

She could see the truth in what Fred was saying, though she wanted to deny that she could ever possibly dislike her two favorite Weasleys, and she desperately wanted to know what his point was. “And what trait is that, you two who seem to know me so well?” Her arms were crossed again defensively, but her eyes were questioning rather than full of hurt feelings.

Fred looked at George, and George looked back at Fred. They nodded to each other, then swung their heads back to face Hermione in the synchronicity for which they were known, speaking in perfect unison.

“Curiosity.”

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that’s it for now. It’s finally finished, after nearly two months of inactivity. I apologize for the delay, and thank you for your patience as I continue to get my shit together. Hopefully the next chapter will come more quickly. I started this one almost as soon as I uploaded the last chapter, but I had some ideas crop up that I wanted to preserve, and I spent several days writing a little Remus/Hermione for a friend.
> 
> Then I had to have a minor repair surgery, and the block has been so strong, and I just haven’t been writing as much as I wanted to. I’m definitely still officially on hiatus, but never fear; this fic will never be abandoned. It may take me a bit longer to write it than I’d anticipated, but with the extra time, maybe it will at least continue to be the quality of work you’ve come to expect from me.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoyed this one, and especially my little scene with the Twins at the end. After making the decision to kill off Percy in Fred’s place, I’ve decided I need to actually use them more. It’s hard trying to write them convincingly, though! I only wish to do them justice. 
> 
> Enjoy, please. You guys are awesome for sticking with me.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.
> 
> Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this out to you guys, but I wanted to be sure it was all the way I wanted it. I know some of you were disappointed to see the one-shots I recently published instead of this update, but getting those out of my system made room for this to finally be at the forefront of my mind and allowed me to finish it up. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

Still tired and feeling the effects of the Dragon Pox, Minerva slept a great deal of that Friday away. The little she was awake and aware, she worried about her upcoming meeting with Hermione and how to resolve the situation and get her to back off without hurting her friend too much. She still treasured her friendship with the younger woman, but could not condone the relationship moving toward anything else, no matter what spark was between them.

Dinner time came, and with it, a tray was delivered to each patient in the Hospital Wing. Minerva had been deemed recovered enough for solid foods again, but the food on her tray was still bland in deference to the remaining queasiness she sometimes felt. Filius was still on broth and water, and was thankful to be holding that down.

After the meals were cleared away, Poppy bustled back into the room, checking first on Filius and then coming around the curtain to tend to Minerva. She cast cleansing charms on Minerva’s hair and body, and Minerva felt as her hair fixed itself into a slightly looser version of her normally tight bun. When her long nightgown was replaced by light-weight linen robes in sapphire blue, she raised an eyebrow questioningly at Poppy, who merely shrugged in response as she continued with her quiet spell-casting. Minerva was curious as to what was going on, but a few moments later, when Poppy pulled a small bundle from her apron pocket and set it on the floor, enlarging the wicker wheelchair to its normal size, she put the pieces together. _Hermione._

Minerva settled into the chair and Poppy spread the quilt over her lap as she’d done when they’d had their previous meeting. Sunny, Minerva’s ever-present house-elf since she took up the Headmistress post, took her up to Hermione’s temporary quarters with her elven-brand of apparition, as the stairs would not accommodate the wheelchair. They reappeared in front of a landscape showing a view of the grounds of Hogwarts and the Black Lake before the castle was built. There was a tiny figure sitting on the bank of the lake, and upon her approach, it rose and ambled forward, becoming more clear the closer he came.

“My lady Headmistress,” he called in a strangely familiar voice, “May I offer you entrance to Professor Granger’s drawing room?”

“If it is convenient for her, yes, please.”

“She advised me that you would be coming soon, and has given permission for you to be granted passage. Be well, my lady.” He bowed deeply at the waist, and the painting rose to reveal an open archway.

Sunny pushed the chair through the arched opening and called out, “Missy Granger, I has brought the Headmistress.”

Hermione’s voice drifted through the open door to her bedroom, “Oh, thank you! I’ll be right out! Minerva, please make yourself at home.”

There was an empty spot close to the fire that Minerva supposed had been left that way for her, so she asked Sunny to leave her there, and she would call when she was ready to go back.

“Yes, Headmistress. Just calls for Sunny when you is ready.”

With a snap of her fingers, Sunny was gone, and Minerva was left alone to wait in Hermione’s sitting area. While she waited, tense and uncomfortable, she glanced around the room. The furniture was generic in style, dark and heavy woods with dark jewel-toned upholstery. In the back corner, there was a large whiteboard set up, covered with several differently-colored lines, and a bookshelf next to it was about half-filled with notebooks, loose scrolls of parchments, and books in various sizes, shapes, and colors. Minerva couldn’t make out the titles from where she was seated, but she thought to herself that the collection must be her research materials on the Wolfsbane and the Werewolf legislation she was drafting.

She didn’t understand what the lines on the whiteboard meant, but she did recognize that there was some element of Arithmancy involved with them, and that had never been one of her strengths. She could tell that it was all incredibly complex, however, and was struck again – as she had been so many times since meeting Hermione – by just how brilliant she was.

“Looks like a big mess, doesn’t it?”

Minerva was startled by Hermione speaking from where she lounged against the door frame leading into her bedroom.

“I understand that it’s Arithmancy, but beyond that, I haven’t a clue what it all means.”

“The black line represents Lycanthropy in its purest form, stemming from an active, feral Werewolf. On the right are our two desired outcomes – either a completely controlled Werewolf,” she gestured to the figure at the top, “or the ultimate goal here,” she pointed to the untainted figure below, “of a human being completely free of the contagion. All the other lines represent one of the formulae with which we’re experimenting.”

“But none of them are reaching either of the figures.”

“No, not yet. We obviously haven’t perfected things yet, and we’re still in the early stages.” She pointed to the longest line and explained further, “This one is the current working formula for Wolfsbane. You can see it comes the closest to the top figure, but it’s not quite where we want it to be. We have a long road in front of us, but it’s important work, and I’m confident we will succeed eventually.”

“This is the sum of your work with Ms. Evans, then?”

“A somewhat physical representation of it, yes. I’m also working on legislation pushing for more rights for those who are currently infected, however, just in case we never reach a full cure. I’ll be overjoyed if we can do that, but if all we can ever manage is to get one of these lines to reach the top figure so that Werewolves can at least keep enough control over themselves without the use of silver chains and cages to prevent harming anyone else or spreading the infection, then I’ll be pleased with the other part of my work. Of course, I’ll only ever be completely satisfied if we cure it once and for all.”

“Have you shown all of this to Severus? He may be able to help further now that you have more data to work with.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Hermione beamed brilliantly at Minerva, having moved closer as they talked about her work. “That’s a brilliant idea, Minerva. Thanks. I’ll be sure to make time to go see him while I’m here.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do to help, since this is all clearly far above my level of expertise.”

“I’ve no doubt I could catch you up quickly enough, but I know you have a lot on your plate right now with Headmistress duties and a Dragon Pox outbreak.” She settled into the remaining empty chair and turned her attention fully to Minerva, noting her paler-than-normal complexion and the deep dark circles under her tired-looking eyes. “Are you feeling better? I haven’t seen you looking this wan since just after the final battle.”

Now that the focus was on her and the conversation was taking a turn back to the personal, Minerva could feel a pit of nerves begin to wiggle its way back to the surface. “Thank you, I am doing much better. Poppy said I should be back on my feet in time to welcome the students back from their holiday Sunday evening. Until then, I am to conserve energy and strength in this damnable chair, subject to the whims of Poppy and Sunny.”

“I can only imagine how that must make you feel. You’ve always been so independent.”

“Indeed. It is certainly an … adjustment.”

Hermione breathed deeply, steeling her nerves. It was time. “As for why I’ve asked you here tonight, Minerva, I wanted to apologize to you. I’ve treated you most unfairly, knowing that you’re in a life-long relationship, and I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you with my actions. I thought I felt something there, and I’ve acted on my impulses recklessly, without considering the consequences beforehand. I never meant to cause you pain, and I fear that I’ve damaged our friendship beyond repair.” One tear slid from one of her eyes, followed quickly by a couple more.

“I won’t pretend that you haven’t acted wrongly, but I haven’t been without fault myself. I can’t help but feel that I’ve encouraged you, because it flatters me that someone like you has shown such an interest, but no matter how long it’s been since I’ve seen her, I still love Morgan and I’m still with her, and I refuse to be unfaithful to her.”

“So you’re saying that if it wasn’t for Morgan, you might be willing to give the idea of me and you together some thought?”

“It’s not that easy, Hermione.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Minerva’s lips thinned, and her knuckles were turning white where her hands gripped tightly to each other. “I’d be a fool not to at least think about it, Hermione, but _I will not cheat_.”

“Nor would I ever ask you to. I can content myself with that, however. I wasn’t deluding myself on what could have been between us, and I respect you all the more for keeping your moral high ground. I will control myself better and back off, no matter what might have been, because I care for you. You have become one of my closest friends, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

“I have to ask… have you any news on your search?”

“Every lead so far is coming up cold, but I won’t give up. I wish I had better news for you, especially after the rest of our conversation tonight.” Hermione hated having to keep lying to Minerva, but she was filled with an internal compulsion, warning her against revealing the truth until she had completed every trip to the past. She couldn’t explain it if anyone asked, but knowing that Luna had agreed that the secrecy must be maintained until it was over helped – it didn’t help a lot, but it did help to know that she wasn’t alone.

=======================HG/MM=======================

They sat and talked for another hour, the normally lively conversation still a bit stilted and awkward and somber, but Hermione was careful not to touch Minerva any more than she had before she had begun her second life as Morgan. Keeping her word to Minerva was important, given all the lies she’d already told, and all the ones yet to come, both as Hermione and as Morgan. She maintained a careful distance, and at the end of the hour, things felt as though they were going back to normal, just a bit.

After Sunny came back and popped Minerva back down to the Hospital Wing, Hermione collapsed face-first into her bed, enjoying the plush comfort of a Hogwarts bed again for only minutes before she fell into a deep sleep, relieved of the tension between herself and the woman she loved.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next morning, Hermione was up bright and early, and quickly finished unpacking and settling into her temporary suite of rooms. After breakfast in the Great Hall, she went up to the Hospital Wing and sat with Filius to discuss lesson plans and course scheduling. After seven years under his tutelage, she knew how he graded assignments, what he looked for and what he marked against, as well as where a student might earn bonus points.

There was a batch of essays that had been turned in just before the Holiday began, and he had finished marking them all before the Pox had taken hold. He suggested that she start by reading through several of those from each class to help refresh her memory on all those salient points. She promised she would. They had a house-elf pop them up to his classroom and office briefly, where he pointed out the locations of all the referenced essays and where he kept all his office supplies; quills and ink, clean parchments, his grade-book – which took another explanation on how to enter everything in that, from essays to practical class-work and daily participation points – and the class rosters and seating charts, which included a magical photograph of each student to ensure that those who showed up for class under a substitute professor was who they said they were.

He tired quickly, prompting a return to his bed in the Hospital Wing. The curtain between his bed and Minerva’s was pulled back, and the three sat in companionable conversation until Poppy entered the back-room with lunch trays and swept Hermione out the door, stating that her patients needed rest to properly heal.

Hermione took her own meal back down in the Great Hall, again temporarily taking over Filius’ seat next to Pomona and Minerva’s empty chair. Over lunch, she caught up with the Herbology Professor and Neville, who sat on her other side. They discussed Neville’s progress with his Herbology and Teaching Masteries for a bit before moving on to his and Ginny’s wedding preparations.

She felt a twinge in her heart at the idea that after it was all over, Minerva may never want to speak to her again for all the long years of lies and subterfuge, and even if she did get the relationship she wanted, they might never have the nervous happiness of planning their own wedding. There may not be any laws on the books prohibiting those in non-heterosexual relationships from seeking the institution, but neither were same-sex marriages at all common.

Somewhat more subdued through the rest of their conversation, she left after lunch to quietly sit at Filius’ desk and read through essays as he’d suggested. His grading style was much the way she remembered from reading back over her own assignments in school as well as reading through Harry and Ron’s – which had normally resulted in a sort of sad shaking of her head. Her friends might be somewhat intelligent in their own way, but writing essays had never been a strength for either. Reading back through some of the poorer examples in the current selection, she wondered how some of these students ever achieved an OWL in Charms, not to mention a NEWT.

She read through more essays than either she or Flitwick had anticipated, but when she was finished, she was in a much better headspace for knowing how he treated the various levels of education, and after a small dinner, she took a long soaking bath before settling into the comfortable bed with a Muggle fiction novel, reading until she fell asleep, unduly tired after a fairly uneventful day.

Sunday morning, she had breakfast with Minerva and Filius, and asked if she could use the Quidditch pitch as a running track every morning, as was her habit. Her request was granted, but Minerva advised her to speak with Madam Hooch as well to be sure the pitch would be free when she wanted to use it. Hermione also asked for permission to use the afternoon to speak with Snape’s portrait about the Wolfsbane project. Minerva granted that request as well, knowing she wouldn’t be back in her rooms until after dinner that night, and the office would be empty until then.

She went down to consult with Madam Hooch about the pitch schedule as soon as she left the Hospital Wing. Hermione had never been very close to the Flying Instructor, as she’d never been very good on a broom; her fear of heights and falling having kept her from enjoying her time in the air.

That morning, however, there was something subtly familiar about the woman. Hermione couldn’t put her finger quite on it, but something in the older woman’s demeanor resonated with her.

Rolanda, who told Hermione to call her Ro, said that the pitch was often empty and free very early in the morning, but there were times when a stressed student – particularly close to exam time – would come down in the early dawn hours to fly for a while to relieve their stress. There were still three months until exams started, but as Hermione herself had always done, there were a few students who would already be deep in revision mode, even after two weeks away on holiday. Ro didn’t seem too worried about Hermione running while a student or two were flying that early, however, and told her former student as much.

Hermione left relieved, and decided that she would go ahead and make a few laps to help determine distances, and to relieve her own tension after a couple days of not running. She wanted to keep in shape, not knowing what kinds of situations she might end up facing in her future, especially while on a trip into the past where Voldemort and his Death Eaters were still forming and building their strength.

The run made her feel better, and after a quick shower, she readied herself for the students’ returns that afternoon, and went down to speak with Snape’s portrait. Hours passed as they spoke and debated this ingredient or that one, this method, that method, the properties of iron cauldrons versus steel ones versus copper or bronze or pewter. She and Statira had been quick to discard the possibility of using silver cauldrons because of the toxicity concerns with Werewolves’ allergies to the metal, but he warned her against dismissing the material and its properties out of hand. She couldn’t see how it would make any difference, but promised to bring it up with Statira in their next meeting to see what she thought. Whatever kind of bastard Severus might have been when he was still alive, he had been absolutely brilliant in his field.

When she looked up to see that it was quickly closing in on dinner time, she realized she would be expected at the meal to be introduced to the full student body and was hit with a rush of nerves.

“Don’t let them get you down, Granger. Appear strong even if you feel weak. They might all be complete dunderheads, but once they sense that you’re afraid, you’ll go down quickly. I doubt you want to be known as the new me, but treat them the way you were treated as a student in Minerva’s classes or in Filius’. Be stern, and demand their respect. You’ll be a bit ahead of the game with your war heroine status, so play on that, but never, ever let them see you hesitate, and always do what you say you will. After babysitting Potter and Weasley and Longbottom through your educational career, you should be fine. You’ve done it before, after all.”

Severus’ low, strong voice broke through her nerves, and she began to relax. She thanked him for all his help and advice, and packed up all her research materials to take back to her suite. As she came back down and reached the doors to the Great Hall, she breathed in, closed her eyes, and breathed out. Opening the door, she stepped in. Every eye quickly turned to her, and acting as though the room was empty, she made her way confidently down the aisles, taking her seat between Pomona and, to her relieved surprise, Minerva. Poppy had released her in time to see and be seen by the returning students.

Minerva introduced her as Filius’ temporary replacement, and she stood to nod at the crowd, shocked at the enthusiastic applause she received from the students and the faculty alike.

For the first time, she really believed that she could do it. She actually could teach. She could help out – even if only for a couple of weeks – and she could do an excellent job while she was there. She would make Minerva and Filius proud to have taught her, and though she wasn’t there to see, she would take the opportunity to make her Charms Mistress, Samantha O’Neill, proud to have helped her gain her Mastery in the subject.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Minerva sank into her own bed, never more thankful for the thick, plush mattress than she was after a week and a half on the thin cot mattress she’d had in the Hospital Wing. With a muttered set of words, her hair was freed from its confines and it spread haphazardly around her head and shoulders to drape across the sheets and pillow in a wild tangle. She sighed at the feeling, wishing for the normal order of her long silken tresses. Poppy had been doing her best, but cleaning charms could only do so much. The dark mass really needed a real washing, a real brushing out with an actual hairbrush, and to be tied into the loose braid she slept in before she succumbed to an exhausted slumber, but she just couldn’t summon the energy to get up and do it.

Instead, she lay there in the bed, thinking about her recent conversations with Hermione. She had been surprised and pleased to hear what the younger woman had had to say Friday night, given her stance against any form of infidelity and the infractions she had already incurred over the last few months, but at the same time, she was disappointed in how easily Hermione had backed down. A frown marred her features as she thought, _Does she not care as much as I thought? Am I not worth pursuing? Or is it that she just has enough respect to honestly be able to set her feelings aside in deference to my own feelings for Morgan?…Would I have been strong enough to withstand her attentions if she hadn’t backed off?_

She fell into slumber, sleeping well and deeply despite the conflicting emotions swirling around her heart, the comfort of being back in her own bed too much to overcome.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione’s first week at Hogwarts was an experience she would never forget. The teaching schedule was grueling, barely giving her any time during the day to do anything more than take a breath between classes, and the evenings were filled with marking essays, office hours for those who needed additional tutelage, and the basic human needs for food and sleep and hygiene. She had very little time to devote to her own work on the Wolfsbane and Werewolf legislation, and she was incredibly thankful to Marcus for introducing her to Statira. Her brewing and research partner was taking on more than her fair share of responsibility while Hermione was helping out at the school, and although they’d exchanged letters via owl post a couple of times, Hermione was itching to share the notes she’d made during her conversation with Snape’s portrait with the red-haired woman. They were set to meet some time on Saturday to go over everything before the next round of brewing began, but Saturday had yet to come.

It was late on Thursday evening, and she was sitting at Filius’ desk with a large pile of essays to mark. She had been working for hours, trying to get them done before the weekend began, but her completed stack of essays was still definitely smaller than the one she had yet to get through.

Setting one more to the side, she dropped her head to the desk, a soft thump and quiet “ow” sounding as she hit with slightly more force than she’d anticipated.

“Professor Granger?” A softly musical voice interrupted her moment of frustration at the third year essays on the proper and ethical application of Cheering Charms.

“Yes?” Her head rose, and the façade she’d adopted in the classroom slammed into place. Unlike her pureblood persona, this face was soft and friendly with a not-so-subtle undertone of strict, but fair. She emanated approachability, at the same time, exhibiting an aura of no-nonsense. It had worked wonders so far at keeping order in the classroom when used in combination with her reputation as the brains of the Golden Trio.

“I wanted … well, that is, I wondered if you might have a moment to spare for a personal conversation?” One of the sixth-year Ravenclaws was standing in the doorway, face cast down to look at her feet scuffing at the floor, hands nervously picking at each other behind her back. Hermione frowned for a second, trying to recall her name. Something with a C?

“Of course. Please come in and have a seat, Miss…”

“Cattermole. Maisie Cattermole,” the girl replied, closing the door behind her.

A soft smile brightened her face. “My apologies, Miss Cattermole. I haven’t yet gotten to know everyone as well as I should like.”

“Oh, I understand, Professor. I’ve only been in two classes with you.” She sat in the comfortable chair opposite Filius’ desk and looked up at Hermione, fingers still fidgeting nervously in her lap.

“That may be true, but I’m normally better with names and faces than this. It’s all just so much to take in so quickly, especially this late in the school year.” The girl nodded from across the desk in understanding. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“As I said, it’s somewhat personal, but,” she inhaled sharply and held the breath in for a second before exhaling slowly, “my Mum always told this strange story about meeting you and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley back during the war, and we’ve never believed her, but now that I have the chance to ask, I thought I would just … ask.”

Hermione frowned again, her brow furrowing in thought. Cattermole, was it? She couldn’t remember anyone by that name, but the war was years earlier, and she’d met a lot of people she couldn’t actually remember in that time. “I’m sorry, the name Cattermole isn’t ringing any bells in my memory. Why don’t you tell me the story she told you and we’ll see if that jogs my memory.”

“Well,” the girl started, “my Mum’s a Muggle-born like you, but my Dad’s a Pureblood who works at the Ministry, and during that last year of the war, after Vol…,” she shuddered trying to get the name out, “…after he took over the Ministry and they started the Registry Commission, she was called in to discuss her blood status. Dad was on his way in to work when he had the most horrible bout of nausea and went home to recover, and Mum was facing her inquiry alone, when she said that…”

The story reminded Hermione of where she’d heard the name before, and she interrupted with a smile, “She said that Albert Runcorn and Mafalda Hopkirk, in a bout of uncharacteristic niceness knocked out Umbridge before releasing her from her chains and allowing her and several other Muggle-borns there for questioning to escape?”

Maisie blinked a few times, silenced by the interruption and continuation of her story. “Well, yes, but she said that Runcorn and Hopkirk both made references to ‘Harry’ and ‘Hermione’, and that Dad showed up, not acting like himself at all, and then another him showed up, too!”

Hermione laughed lightly. “The first one was Ron, disguised with Polyjuice. We were, ah, responsible for your father’s illness, as well. I don’t think we ever did apologize to him or Mafalda for that day. Runcorn didn’t deserve our apologies at all, but the other two were greatly mistreated by us in our zeal.” Her laughter faded as she spoke.

“So she was telling the truth?” She was so surprised that her eyebrows had risen nearly to her hairline, eyes and mouth wide open.

“Oh, yes.”

“Ellie and Alf are gonna flip when I tell them. Did Mum really kiss Ron Weasley in disguise as my Dad? She never knew who it was, but she said the fake one really laid one on her.”

Hermione’s laughter returned with a vengeance, going on for several minutes until tears were rolling from her eyes. “Oh gods, I had forgotten about that part. Yes, he was trying so hard to stay in character that I think he actually forgot for a moment that he wasn’t poor Reg.”

Maisie responded in a soft, gasping whisper, “My mum snogged Ron Weasley. The best Keeper the Cannons have ever had, and my mum snogged him.”

So the young woman had a bit of a crush on Ron, did she? “I have it on good authority that he may not be with them much longer.”

“So he might have a chance of actually winning a match now and then? That’s amazing!” The excitement was shining brightly from her eyes, and she stood to leave, but was stopped by Hermione’s voice before she could bolt through the doorway.

“Miss Cattermole?” She turned around to face her temporary teacher again, a questioning look on her face. “What I just shared with you is not to be public knowledge, am I clear? You may share with your family the truth about what happened in the Ministry that day, but if I find out that the news of Ron’s potential move has stemmed from you or anyone else in this school because of you, I shall be greatly disappointed in you.”

“Of course, Professor. Thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down!”

“I expect not.”

With an excited nod, the girl disappeared from the office, and Hermione smiled and shook her head for a moment before getting back to the stack of unmarked essays. “Bloody Cheering Charms. I could use a good one about now to reduce the tedium of marking these.”

=======================HG/MM=======================

“I don’t know how you all do it. After just one week, I’m exhausted. I’m beginning to see where Severus’ habit of calling them all dunderheads came from.” She slouched back into her chair, a glass of red wine dangling from her fingers.

“We’ve always been pressed for time as teachers here, between the classes, the essays, patrolling, and detentions. Throw in the extra studies some require after-hours, Head of House and Deputy Headmistress duties, and it’s a very full schedule. Rewarding? Absolutely, but yes, we all knew where Severus’ frustrations came from, especially given his extra Order role of spy. It takes no small amount of patience and a reduced propensity for sleep to be a Hogwarts Professor. Severus had more than enough of the latter, but very little of the former.”

“Merlin and Morgana, Minerva! You’re all super heroes.”

Minerva smirked, enjoying the playful banter that had returned after their discussion the previous week. It was Friday night, and just as she had during her final year of education, when the day had finally ended, Hermione had accompanied her to her sitting room without even asking. They were both enjoying the visit, half a bottle of her finest Cabernet Sauvignon having helped soothe their frayed nerves.

“Oh, aye. We can be. You’ve seen most of us in action, though we’ve all gained a bit more age since the war.”

“Have you ever thought about bringing in more teachers? I can’t help but think that if there were two teachers for each of the core subjects, at least, things would be less stressful for everyone involved. Neville says he and Pomona are splitting duties between them as he learns more, and that she seems happier with having fewer students to teach at once and fewer classes to have to schedule, and Firenze and Trelawney have been sharing for years now.”

“It’s something I’ve considered, yes, but it mostly comes down to budgetary issues. We pay a decent wage, especially when you consider what Muggle teachers make, and we provide room and board for ten months of the year – twelve for some, though they don’t get paid for those two extra months during the summer holidays. We are entirely funded by the Ministry, which is how families like the Weasleys are able to send all of their children here instead of teaching them at home, and by the time we provide the education, room, and board for the student body and the teachers as well, there’s just only so much to pay for more professors.” She sighed deeply. “I’m afraid that when the post-war population boom hits us, we may outstrip our budgets entirely, which is never a good thing in the minds of the Board.”

“I knew I didn’t pay for anything but my basic supplies and books and robes, but I never thought about what that meant for the school.” Hermione frowned, taking another long sip from her glass.

“No, not many do.”

“Do many parents end up home-schooling their children rather than sending them here?”

“There used to be the odd pureblood family who would home-school so they could instruct their children on the use of Dark magic rather than just the defense against it, but as we don’t charge tuition, most simply opt to send them to us, and if they want to teach them Dark magic, they do it over holidays and during the summers. Sometimes I wish we could charge tuition based on the affluence of the parents, whereby families like the Malfoys – who can well afford it – would pay to send their children, leaving room for the Ministry subsidies to be used for those who _can’t_ afford to pay – like the Weasleys – but the Board would never go for that, and neither would the people who would end up paying. If they did accept such a situation, they would demand extra privileges for their children that those who didn’t pay wouldn’t get, and that’s not how education should be.”

“No, I can see how such a system would be beneficial for the school as a whole, but you’re correct in thinking that it would never be accepted. Can you imagine how much worse Draco Malfoy would have been to Ron in school if he’d been able to lord over him how much he’d had to pay for his education while Ron was getting away with paying nothing? He made fun of hand-me-down robes and books enough as it was.

“But surely there’s something that could be done? If there is a population boom and you’re hit with many more students at once, you’re all going to be overwhelmed.”

Minerva shook her head slowly. Hermione was so idealistic and honorable, thinking there was a good solution for every situation. “I wish it was that easy.”

“How about fundraisers?”

“Fundraisers? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“In the Muggle world, certain organizations hold fancy parties and either solicit donations for the cause or charge a large fee for those who wish to attend, and all the proceeds are then pocketed by the charitable cause. Some raffle donated items, some raffle dates with certain people – the staff members for instance, or celebrities tied to the charity – and some do a game night where patrons purchase tickets and then use the tickets to play games or gamble with donated prizes. Many educational institutions in the Muggle world subsist on these fundraising activities when tuition and government funding isn’t enough to do everything they want or need to do.”

Minerva blinked rapidly, her mind racing through the possibilities. It was absolutely doable, especially with the help of the House-elves and the rest of the staff, and if they did well enough, it could certainly help alleviate some of the financial burden the school was constantly fighting.

“You’re brilliant, Hermione. I’ll present the idea to the Board and see what they say.”

Stifling the desire to jump up and celebrate the idea with a long snog session, Hermione simply raised her glass in a toast. It was good to see that sparkle back in Minerva’s eyes.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next day, Hermione handed over copies of all the notes she’d made while speaking with Severus’ portrait to Statira, and watched as another brilliant mind soaked in the information.

“He said to consider using a Silver cauldron? But that’s toxic to Werewolves.” Statira’s head rose, gaze shifting from the notes to Hermione as she pulled off a narrow pair of reading glasses. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s what I said,” Hermione shrugged. “But he said not to dismiss its other properties out of hand, so I told him I’d bring it up.”

Statira’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowing as the arm of her glasses was worried between her teeth. “He’s not _wrong_ , I suppose. It does have other properties that could be helpful, but all Werewolves are extremely allergic. It would kill them!” She was muttering under her breath, words somewhat muffled as she chewed on her glasses. “But on the other hand… No, it’s too dangerous.”

Watching her thought process flitter across her face, Hermione smiled, thinking she was finally getting the chance to see what Harry and Ron had described as one of her mannerisms several times over the years.

“Well, it won’t do us any good to keep thinking about that right now. Here are the newest formulas, ready for you to convert and run through the simulation.” She handed over a thin sheaf of parchments.

“I’ll get these converted and input tonight, and they should be ready tomorrow morning. I’ll owl you the results so you can start brewing Monday.”

“That’s perfect, Hermione. Thanks for all the notes. I’ll take it all into consideration for next month’s batch, depending on what happens with this month’s.”

“Sure thing. I’m glad Minerva thought to suggest talking with him again.”

Mentioning Minerva turned Hermione’s thoughts to their slowly recovering relationship, and to the woman waiting for her in the past. With things stabilizing here in the present, would it finally be fair to Min to go back again soon?

Statira paused in gathering her things and looked at Hermione, sitting there with a somewhat vacant look in her eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” Hermione shook her head, bringing herself back to the current conversation. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just looked a little strange there for a minute. You sure you’re okay?”

She beamed brightly up at the redhead. “Yep, I’m fine.”

Statira shook her head slowly. “If you say so.” She wasn’t quite sure she believed that, but in the end, she decided it wasn’t really any of her business.

=======================HG/MM=======================

After she walked Statira down to the gates, Hermione took a brief walk by the shore of the Black Lake, the thread of her thoughts spinning her back to her earlier debate on Minerva and Min, back in the past, and whether or not it was time to go back.

Pulling her sweater tighter around her in the still-cool April winds as she walked, she thought perhaps after her time at the school was up, she would make her next visit. She didn’t want to come back from the past and immediately have to deal with seeing Minerva, not so quickly after they’d finally set aside their differences in regards to her behavior since her long journey had begun. She recognized that her control would be weaker just after returning, and since she was set to leave Hogwarts the weekend of their regular visit, she would have a whole month to get over her trip to the past before having to see the Headmistress again.

It was the perfect plan. Resolve hardened and plans made, she continued her walk up the shoreline toward the school, taking her time.

From the Head’s tower, green eyes were watching through a window as the wind lifted several loose strands of Hermione’s hair, blowing them haphazardly around her head while she slowly walked. _Gods, but she’s beautiful._

Minerva sighed. In another world, she thought that she and Hermione would have been perfect together, but she already had a lifetime with Morgan, and she couldn’t just set that aside for a fleeting attraction. She only wished Morgan would show back up soon. She was so tired of being alone.

As Hermione reached the castle and entered through the huge oak doors, Minerva tore herself away from the window and sat back at her desk. She had work to do.

=======================HG/MM=======================

After finishing a bit of marking for the first years, Hermione pulled out the parchments Statira had left and got to work converting the recipes into the quantified equations that could be added to the whiteboard to work through the probabilities.

She removed the previous equations and replaced them with the new set, watching as they began their battle with Lyke. One line seemed to be making a bit more progress than the others had, so she looked back at the raw recipe to see what was different about it. It seemed to be just another standard variation, a list of ingredients, chopped, sliced, diced, and powdered before being added to a pure water base in a specified order. This particular one used a heavy iron cauldron and a non-reactive glass stirring rod.

Remembering what Severus had said, and Statira’s odd reaction to his suggestion, Hermione sat back down and changed the equation to reflect using a silver cauldron in place of the iron one, and threw that one up on the board as well, surprised to see it making nearly as much progress as the original.

Curiosity sparked in her mind, and she rewrote each recipe she’d been given, changing pewter and copper and bronze all to silver before adding the new variations to the board. To her surprise, one of the weaker formulae made a huge surge against Lyke with the new cauldron material, surpassing even the first that had made so much more progress than the rest.

Glancing back at the original notes, she saw that particular recipe had previously been using a simple pewter cauldron because of the volatility of some of the ingredients. The only change she’d made had been the metal, and if it had made that big a difference… the implications were astounding.

Maybe there was something to this idea of silver, after all. She decided to leave the board until the morning and see what changes that time wrought before sending word to Statira at the lab. She hadn’t promised to get the results to her until then, anyway, so there was no need to be hasty.

Looking up at the clock, she was surprised to see that it was just past ten. It had taken her longer than she thought to convert the recipes over and get them on the board. Standing and stretching the kinks from her back and sides, she decided a shower would help her relax so she’d sleep easily.

The hot water did help her relax, but instead of sending her towards sleep, it instead rejuvenated her. Toweling the water out of her thick hair, she walked over to the chest of drawers to pull out clean underwear. When at home, she slept nude, but while acting as a teacher, she was sleeping clothed in case an emergency drew her from her bed in the middle of the night. She sent her damp towel to hang from a hook on the back of the bathroom door and fished in the top drawer for a pair of knickers.

She flushed lightly as her fingers brushed across the Twins’ gift to her. She was far from a prude, but she didn’t know how she’d ever find the courage to suggest the toy’s use to Minerva. It would surely be some time before the option was even viable, as the technology didn’t exist in the past where she had a sexual relationship with her Min, and Merlin only knew if she’d come out the other side with the same type of dynamic with Minerva once her trips to the past were over.

She pulled out a serviceable pair of white cotton knickers and slipped them on before closing the drawer, forcing her thoughts away from the maudlin. She grabbed a pair of striped pajamas from the next drawer down and pulled them on, and dressed, she went back into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, fixing it into the loose braid that helped tame her wild mane for everyday wear.

On her way back to bed, she stopped and grabbed a thin fiction novel to help finish calming her mind so she could sleep. Propping up a couple pillows, she settled back against them and snuggled under the warm blankets before cracking the book open and immersing herself into a fictional world. Before she’d made it halfway through, she was sound asleep.

=======================HG/MM=======================

As the next week went on, Filius made remarkable progress on his recovery, and was expected to be able to get back to work by the next week.

Her owl-post conversation with Statira concerning the recipes and the changes she’d tentatively made to them had seemingly stumped the Potions Mistress. She indicated that she would attempt each recipe twice this month, once in the original cauldron material, and once again in silver cauldrons, and maybe Remus could help talk a few more volunteers into showing up at the full moon for testing. Hermione contacted Remus herself and he said he would see what he could do about the extra volunteers, which satisfied both witches.

Hermione had another meeting with Miss Cattermole and her siblings, confirming that she had, indeed met their parents during the war, and that yes, Ron had imitated their father with Polyjuice Potion and kissed their mother while in disguise.

She was greatly amused when the brother’s reaction was an awed “Wicked.” He was in her second-year Hufflepuff class, and had so far proven to be extremely proficient at the practical portion of lessons, though his essay-writing skills needed a bit of brushing up.

The middle girl, Ellie, a fourth-year Hufflepuff, was no deft hand at the subject, submitting medium-quality essays and doing about average in the practicum, but she understood from Professor Vector that she was excelling in Arithmancy, which was a difficult subject to grasp.

Before she knew it, the weekend had arrived. Most of Saturday was spent with Filius, reviewing what she’d done with each class, and making sure things had been done to his standards, which of course, everything had.

Saturday evening, she went up for her tea with Minerva, and the tension between them was easing ever more with each meeting. There was still something there; their chemistry would always be present, but they were both working through it, and it was getting easier.

Hermione was starting to pick up hope that they could come out the other side of this on good terms, and Minerva was coming back to the peace she’d had before Hermione’s behavior had changed so much. She had been mildly attracted to others before; that happened to everyone in a long-term relationship, but Hermione had been the first one she’d acted on, and it would be the last. She couldn’t live with herself if Morgan ever came back and she had to confess to more than a kiss or two, and thus, it simply couldn’t go any further. It helped that Hermione seemed to accept that now, and she was settling back into their close friendship.

It would be some time before it all passed, but they were making progress, and for now, that was enough.

Sunday evening, Hermione packed up all her belongings, and threw her bottomless rucksack over her shoulder. Minerva walked her down to the gates, and they said their goodbyes as the cool wind tossed hair and cloaks about wildly.

Back at her flat, Hermione unpacked efficiently before beginning the process of packing for a trip to the past. She made sure all her 1940s clothes were cleaned and packed away, ensured her stock of first-aid potions were still viable, and swapped her wands out before checking the list Minerva had given her to confirm the date she needed to aim for.

According to the list, she showed up early the morning of the sixth of June, so with all her belongings packed and ready and appropriate clothes donned, she applied her glamours, rearranged her hair into the loose bun she wore as Morgan, and slipped the crystal around her neck. Remembering what had happened last time she came back from the past, she erected extra wards that would ensure nobody surprised her as she returned.

Everything was ready, and it was time. The crystal in one hand and her wand in the other, she incanted, “The back room of the Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Nine PM. The Fifth of June, Nineteen Forty-Seven. _Ausafr_!”

=======================HG/MM=======================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I know. Ron wasn’t quite so inept in that Ministry scene in the book as he was in the movie, but I thought the plot device was too fun to pass up. I don’t often use movie references in place of the books, but here’s one instance where I just couldn’t help myself.
> 
> There is, I believe, one more instance where I use movie-verse canon instead of book-verse, but it will be well further into the story in a scene that I have already partially written for its importance. 
> 
> According to DH chapter thirteen, Reginald and Mary Elizabeth Cattermole were the parents of Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred. I have, yet again, borrowed from Jo’s character base to expand on my story.
> 
> As for those of you who are curious about what Hermione got from the Twins, never fear. All will be explained and made clear later on. I know exactly what the product is and how it will eventually be used, but for all the reasons Hermione stated earlier in her musings, it’s just not viable for use right now.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.  
> I am so sorry this chapter has taken so long. This story will not be abandoned! However, writer’s block truly is the biggest hurdle I’ve ever had to cross, and I haven’t yet finished that journey. I have made progress though, and so without much further ado, I give you chapter twenty-two of She Who Turns Time.   
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.

=========MM/HG=========

“Some warning you’re coming might not be amiss the next time, you know?”

Morgan’s eyelids slowly rose, fluttering on the way, revealing the blurry form of Mairead Òstairean, the formidable proprietor of the Three Broomsticks, as she flitted around the room busily.

“There are these wonderful animals called owls who fly about, generally with letters attached to their legs which can let people know to expect a guest who might need a place to sleep for a night. I understand that I’m in the business of providing food, drink, and a clean place to sleep to the weary traveler, but honestly, Morgan, some notice would be appreciated!”

Morgan smiled wearily up at the moving figure. “Happy to see you again as well, Mairead.”

Mairead paused in her movements and lifted a hand to Morgan’s cheek, patting it softly. “Welcome back, dearling.” She was smiling as she patted, but then the smile disappeared and her violet eyes darkened to a deep indigo. “However, we have some things to discuss before you nip away to Minerva.”

Morgan’s smile faded as Mairead’s hand fell away from her face. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ve been lying to us, and I need to know the truth and why you’ve been keeping it from us.”

_Oh shit, where did I slip up? What does she know? Or what does she think she knows? Shit, shit, shit._

“What are you talking about?”

Indigo eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t play me for a fool, Morgan. Those books you gave Rosie for Christmas; you said your father read them to you when you were very young, but Bambi wasn’t brought to England until after you would have been in Primary school. So I thought initially you were either lying about your father having read you the books, or that you were lying about your age, and neither situation made any sense to me. Why lie about those things? Over the last six months, however, I’ve done a bit of digging, and I can find no records of your existence before the second time you showed up here.” Mairead stood, and her normally gentle tone sharpened to a razor’s edge as she continued.

“No birth records, no educational testing records, nothing! So now I have to assume that on top of the other lies you’ve told, you’re also lying about your identity and that you were actually the HG from that letter in your pocket when you woke up with no memory – or was that yet another lie, Morgan? I think you’ve spun a web so big that nobody could possibly keep track of it, and somehow or another, Minerva McGonagall and her family are right in the middle of it, and I will not allow you to continue perpetrating these lies around me and my daughter!”

Magical energy started swirling invisibly around the mild-mannered woman as she spoke, lifting strands of her hair around her head in a magical breeze, and Morgan watched in fear and awe as a dark length of wood rose to point sharply in her direction.

“You will tell me the truth, Morgan, or whoever you really are, and you will do it now.”

Morgan could tell from her changed demeanor that there would be no spinning this, there was no way to handle it other than to tell the truth and hope for the best.

“What if I was to tell you that you’re right? That I’m not who I’ve said I am? Or that rather, I’m exactly who I’ve said I am, and that all those records you searched for do exist?” She kept her voice calm, trying to defuse the situation without anyone getting hurt, emotionally or physically.

“Under whose name can I find those records, then? Certainly not Morgan Stewart.”

“No, you’re right. I was not born or educated under the name Morgan Stewart. If I tell you the truth, can I trust you to keep my secrets? They’re of vital importance, Mairead. I swear it.”

The wand trained on her head faltered for a split second before snapping back into place. “I can’t make that promise until I’ve heard what you have to say.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do then. My name is Hermione Granger. I’m a Muggle-born witch. I was born in London and lived there as a Muggle until I received my Hogwarts letter. I attended Hogwarts for all seven years as a Gryffindor, studied for and received my Transfiguration and Charms Masteries, and I work in the Ministry for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Miss … Granger. If you’d gone to Hogwarts, I would have known you. Minerva would have known you.”

“If I’d been born in 1921 as I’ve led you to believe, that would all be true. However, I was not born in 1921; I was – or rather I will be – born in 1979.”

Mairead’s wand fell, clattering, to the ground, and she sank to the bed next to Morgan in shock, her legs refusing to hold her up any longer, all her strength fleeing in the face of what Morgan had said. “Nineteen … Seventy-Nine? How is that possible?”

“You’ve heard of Time-Turners?”

“Aye, but they’re only good for a few hours. A couple of days at the most. You’re talking about…”

“Fifty-eight years.”

“Merciful Jesus,” Mairead said in a stunned monotone, crossing herself with shaking fingers. “How?”

“I created a variation on a Time-Turner because my mentor was searching for someone important to her. A friend of mine was working on a spell that could track people across untold distances if only the tracker has a bit of hair or something – whatever can be tossed into Polyjuice Potion can be used for this spell – and I came here to get some of her hair so I could take it back to the future and track her down for my friend.”

“The letter. You were looking for this Morgan Stewart so you could track her down in the future?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not long-distance Apparation that drains you so when you pop in here, is it? It’s this long-term time travel?”

“Exactly so.”

Violet eyes rose to meet Morgan’s, searching for evidence of further lies, but when she found none, she was left with only one more big question. “Who is your mentor? The one who was looking for her friend, over whose identity you have now taken?”

“Minerva, of course, who, in my time, is the Headmistress of Hogwarts.” Morgan hoped she wasn’t giving away too much information, because she really didn’t want to have to Obliviate her friend. She’d had enough of that spell to last her a lifetime.

Mairead’s eyes fluttered closed, and her hand was pressed tightly to her chest. “You’ve done a very stupid, very bad thing, Miss Granger.”

“On the contrary, I’ve done what I was always meant to do. When I hit my head that first trip and couldn’t remember myself, you began calling me Morgan Stewart, and you were the reason I met Minerva in that guise. Our relationship building after that was always meant to happen. I became the person for whom I was here to search. If I hadn’t come, Morgan Stewart would never have existed, and who knows how that would have affected the future and the overall timeline?”

“Does the Minerva in your time know that you’re the same person? I assume your looks would give you away, though that confuses me as well.”

“Oh,” Morgan flushed lightly, “Well, the thing is, this is all a series of glamours. I look quite a bit different back home.”

Mairead’s eyes shot back open. “Show me.”

“I don’t know if that’s wise. You already know everything else.”

“And I will take it all to Minerva and the Ministry if you don’t remove your glamours right now. I asked you for the truth, and I’ll accept nothing less than the _full_ truth.”

Morgan sighed and cancelled the glamours, allowing Mairead to see her as she truly was.

Mairead studied her new features carefully, gaze moving methodically over her body where it was exposed. “There are some subtle differences in your facial features – just enough to set you apart, but the biggest difference is your hair. Why that odd mix of red and blonde when you’re Morgan?”

“To be honest, I saw a woman on the street with that hair once, and I thought it was strange and beautiful, so I appropriated it. I didn’t want to accidentally run into someone I knew in the future and have them remember me from 1946.”

“That’s an understandable concern.”

“Were you a Ravenclaw, by any chance?”

Mairead laughed lightly. “I was. How did you guess?”

“You’re taking this very calmly after your initial anger at being lied to. You’re looking at me as though I’m an academic problem to be solved.”

“Aren’t you?”

Morgan didn’t speak for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “The thing is, Mairead, that however it happened and for whatever reasons, I love her. I love her more than I ever thought would be possible, and I’m lying to her. I hate myself for it, but the Minerva I know in the future knows nothing of Morgan and myself being the same person, and so while I’m in the past with her, I can’t tell her; she can’t know. Can you keep my secret? Can I trust you to do that?”

“If your future Minerva doesn’t know, then I certainly never told her. I suppose you can trust me and that I shall simply have to keep this to myself.” There was a look of sad resignation on her face, fingers picking nervously at each other.

“Thank you.” Morgan breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“However, what I said earlier still stands. I provide food, drink, and a place to sleep to the weary traveler, but this repeated popping into the pub cannot continue …Morgan. You’re welcome to visit as often as you like; Rosie and I both enjoy your company and Minerva’s as well, but I can’t live my life waiting on the next time you pop in and collapse to the floor.”

“I understand. I shall do what I must to ensure I don’t intrude on you and your hospitality like this again.”

“I’m sorry to raise the issue, Morgan, but as Rosie gets older, she’ll have questions, and I don’t know what to tell her.”

“No, don’t worry even a little about it. I thank you for everything you’ve done for me already since this all began, and must beg on your generosity once more to ask for a room for the night if you have one. These trips really do leave me drained, and I need to sleep it off until morning.” Her hands scrubbed at her face tiredly, moving up to scratch at her scalp, strands of her hair pulling free from her bun to drape around her face. Without her glamours in place, the style wasn’t as friendly to her natural hair as it was to Morgan’s slightly sleeker locks.

“Aye, I have a room for you. Before you go up, however, don’t forget to fix your face and say something to Rosie. Neither of us would ever hear the end of it if she knew you were here and you didn’t speak.” Mairead smiled tiredly before bending down to retrieve her fallen wand from the floor by her feet.

Morgan laughed lightly, doing as she was told, laughter growing harder as she listened to the pitch change with the applied glamours. “She would be gravely offended, which is very serious indeed for a brand new four year old. How was her birthday? I’m sorry I had to miss it.”

“Oh, it was grand for a four year old. There was a bit of cake and we played games, and she enjoyed her gifts. We even popped down to Diagon Alley and got an ice cream from Fortescue’s. She missed you, though. Kept asking where Mo’gan was.”

Her face fell, a sad smile lingering on her lips. “I wish I could be there for more; I wish I could be here all the time, but I just … I can’t.”

“I understand, Morgan. She won’t right now, but as she gets older, she’ll get there.” Her brows furrowed as another thought cropped up. “How do you decide when to show up, by the by? I have a feeling it’s not a whim, but I haven’t seen any set pattern to your visits thus far.”

“Well, I told Minerva in the future that I was going to attempt to find Morgan – though I didn’t outline exactly how – and asked for a list of every time she’d seen me, and that’s what I’ve been following. For instance, my list said I show up early tomorrow morning, so, knowing how the travel affects me, I came tonight instead so I could sleep it off before going to her in the morning.”

“And how long until your next visit?”

“A year.”

Surprise rocked Mairead’s gentle features. “So long? Surely you could have made your visits more frequent?”

“I don’t know why, Mairead. I truly don’t. When I first looked over the list, I supposed it had to do with the extra aging I’d be doing, but even if I came four or five times as often as the list says, it wouldn’t add that much to my physical age, especially with the phenomenon of Wizard’s aging. But I daren’t deviate from the list and change history even further than I already do with my mere presence. The results could be catastrophic to the timeline.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Whichever me came through first, actually changing things, must have had her reasons. Having come from a different future than she started in, however, I’ll never know what they were. I can only live my life to the best of my abilities, doing the best I can with what I’m given. In the end, I hope it will be enough for Min and me to end up happy together in the future that’s meant for us.”

“I hope the same, even though I may not be there to see it.”

Morgan wanted to reassure her and tell her that of course she’d be there to see the two of them together if such a thing happened, but she had never seen Mairead back in her own time; Rosie ran the pub then, alone. She didn’t know what was to happen to Mairead or when, but it would be sometime before Hermione came to Hogwarts in 1991. She wanted so badly to go back and find out, but as with Minerva’s family, she didn’t want the foreknowledge to taint her time with them.

With those thoughts shadowing her mind, she spent the next hour with Mairead and Rosie, listening to the baby chatter and happy giggles before heading up to the room she’d used before and collapsing into the bed as it was, not taking the time to transfigure the bedding like she usually did.

=========MM/HG=========

The sun was barely making its first appearance over the mountains when Morgan rose the next morning. She cleaned up, locked up, and left the room key and a pile of coins as payment where Mairead would find them before stepping out into the early morning fog. Pulling her cloak more firmly around her shoulders and bringing the cowl over the top of her head, she walked for a moment in the mist, thinking about Minerva, Mairead, Rosie, herself, and all the issues she needed to iron out there in the past.

Up and down the main street of Hogsmeade she trudged, boots growing damp from the mist and the dew, a few loose strands of her hair hanging limply around her face as the fog saturated them, even under the protection of her cloak’s hood.

Without the safety of the Three Broomsticks as an arrival destination, she needed to find another place where she could come and not have to worry about being found unconscious until she could recover and take care of herself when she traveled from the future.

Minerva would be completing her Mastery in just a couple of years, thus losing the flat Dumbledore was providing, and although she would eventually find a home at Hogwarts, there was a period of nine years where she would need a place to live, and even after she began teaching, she would need a home for the summers. Knowing Minerva and her family, she would likely first go back home to Sarclet and suffer from the lack of ability to do magic for the sake of her parents’ rules, and that wouldn’t do.

And so she also needed this place to be somewhere Minerva could call home when she wasn’t there. In all the years she’d known Minerva in her own time, she had never heard of such a place existing, and all of her monthly visits during the summers had been at Hogwarts. That didn’t mean that Minerva never went there in the years after Morgan stopped coming, but it did indicate that there was a certain amount of secrecy surrounding the place; it would likely need to be secret-kept to absolutely ensure her own safety in popping back to the past over the next sixty years.

Morgan wanted to keep the process a secret from Min, so she could surprise her lover with the gift at the right time. Her relationship with Mairead was still a bit shaky in the aftermath of her forced discovery of Morgan’s secrets; although it was well on its way to a full repair, it wasn’t quite back up to where it had been before Mairead’s suspicions. As such, she couldn’t ask her for help. The only other person she could think of to ask was as likely to help as she was to hinder the process, but if things worked out, she could be the perfect assistant. She simply had to figure out a way to have a few minutes alone with her in the next few days.

Spirit bolstered by having possibly figured out how to solve her most immediate problem, her mind filled itself with happy, lust-filled images of Min, and with an enigmatic curve to her lips and a wistful look in her eyes, she cast a quick series of drying charms on herself and her clothing and apparated south to London and a hopefully still-sleeping Minerva.

With a sharp but quiet crack, she appeared in the hallway leading to Min’s flat and felt with her magic for the wards. There was a tingle at the base of her skull that pulsed through her body with a rush of warmth as they recognized her familiar presence, and without her having to pull out a key or whisper _Alohomora_ , the door snicked open quietly, permitting her entrance. The enigmatic smile still on her lips, she closed her eyes at the recognition and stepped into the flat.

She went through the door on the right first, stashing away her forties’ belongings and hanging her cloak and clothes from the appropriate pegs. Clad only in her underwear, she reached up to pull the pins from her hair. As she laid the last pin down with the rest, her multi-hued hair spilling down her back, she heard a quiet yawn behind her as it turned into a gasp, and she froze.

“You’re back,” Minerva’s soft, sleepy voice broke the silence between them. “You’re finally back, _a rúnsearc_.” She exhaled slowly. “Finally.”

Morgan turned and raked her eyes up the figure standing in the doorway, drinking in the details of Minerva’s bare feet, toes curled under trying to avoid contact with the cold wooden floorboards, the way her long legs brushed against each other under the white material of her nightgown, one hand gripping tightly to the high neckline of the gown while the other braced her torso against the door frame. Her hair had been pulled back into the tight braid Minerva slept in, but was tousled and wild around her face and her impossibly green eyes, heavily lidded in her half-asleep state as they drank in the nearly naked form of her long-missing lover.

“The shift in the wards woke me but I didn’t dare hope…” Her words were interrupted by a long yawn, and she swayed on her feet from the force, the hand holding the doorframe all that kept her from collapsing.

Morgan crossed the room to her in seconds, one hand going to Minerva’s waist, the other reaching up to cradle her cheek. She tilted her head upward and pressed a soft kiss to the expanse of Minerva’s brow before replacing her lips with her own forehead, nuzzling their noses together.

“Go back to bed, Min. You’re asleep on your feet,” she whispered, thumb tracing itself over the high arch of Minerva’s cheekbone. At the low whimper that escaped Minerva’s throat, Morgan smiled and pressed her lips gently to Minerva’s. “I’ll be in before you know it. Go sleep, love.”

Minerva’s lips pursed into a pout as Morgan released her hold, but she turned and stumbled back into her own bedroom, nonsensically mumbling all the way.

“Gods I missed her,” Morgan breathed to herself with a smile as she watched the other woman’s slow progress. As Minerva disappeared through her own door, Morgan turned and finished disrobing and secured her hair back into its braid before following in her lover’s footsteps. She stepped into the other bedroom and couldn’t help but snicker softly. Minerva had left the long nightgown in a puddle on the floor before sprawling across the mussed bed completely naked. Amused at her sleepy antics, Morgan closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head slowly, lips tipped up in silent laughter.

With a bit of magical help, Morgan got them both in the bed and curled together under the blanket without Minerva waking back up. With her right hand idly stroking up and down Minerva’s side, Morgan drifted off to sleep, despite the sleep she’d had at The Three Broomsticks earlier, content to lie there wrapped up in the warmth and scent of her woman.

Just before she lost consciousness, she felt as Minerva’s hand moved upward from where it had been laid on her stomach to drape itself across the full mound of her breast. As sweet Morpheus claimed her, she smiled again and grazed her lips across Minerva’s brow. “I love you,” she whispered.

=========MM/HG=========

They awoke late in the morning and reacquainted themselves with each other slowly, reverently, both taking their time tracing their fingers and lips over the hills and valleys of each other’s skin. The late afternoon was spent out at the shops, picking up supplies for the weekend, as neither had any intention of leaving the flat again until Monday.

The rest of the weekend passed much the same as Friday, and before either of them were ready for it, Monday came and with it, Minerva’s return for her last week of studies until the summer was over.

After Minerva’s departure, Morgan pulled herself from bed, showered quickly, made herself up smartly in clothing that could pass for lightweight summer wear in both the Muggle and Magical worlds, and left for Diagon Alley. Once she’d sent off a short missive via owl-post, she stopped into the Alley’s café for a cup of tea, sitting and sipping at it while glancing through the Prophet.

Laying the paper across the table, she tipped her cup for the last sip of tea, and found her eyes drawn to the doorway as a handsome man – maybe twenty years old – walked through it and crossed to the counter to sit in one of the tall seats. She didn’t need to look at him twice to know exactly who he was – and who he would later become. Her fingers itched to reach for her wand and stop the Dark Lord before his influence and propaganda could spread to the rest of the Wizarding World, but her rational mind stopped her. Instead, she set her empty cup back on its saucer, stood, and made her way outside, pressing a coin into the waitress’ hand en route to pay her check.

Shaken by the almost encounter, she ducked around a corner and pressed her back to the cool brick, leaning her head back as well, a hand pressed to her chest. She took a moment there to gather her composure before stepping back out into the Alley proper, heading back toward the Owl Post.

“Miss? Pardon me, but you seem to have left Irabella a bit flustered.”

The cool, smooth voice stopped Morgan in her tracks, and her eyes drifted shut for a couple of seconds before opening as she turned to face Tom Riddle. “I’m sorry?”

“Your check totaled only three knuts and you gave her a galleon. She’s worried you accidentally gave her too much and will be hurting for the lost money.” His hand extended toward her, curled around a fistful of coins. “She wished me to see if I could find you and return your change.”

Morgan forced herself to smile warmly in his direction, hands resolutely at her sides. “There was no mistake, sir. Please tell her to keep the change with my compliments on outstanding service.”

“That’s a rather sizeable tip, miss. Are you certain?” His brows furrowed curiously, looking down at the pile of coins clutched in his fist as he stepped one foot toward her.

“Yes, of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to pursue.”

“My apologies for holding you up. I’ll just return this to Irabella. May I tell her the name of her benefactress? This is enough to cover her expenses for the next two weeks at least.”

“No name is necessary. Thank you for acting as her messenger, Mr….”

“Riddle; Tom Riddle. I thank you on her behalf, Miss, for the gift. As her fiancé, I could do no less.”

A lump appeared in Morgan’s throat. _Fiancé?_ This was information nobody had ever revealed about a young Voldemort. He had been engaged? And to such a lovely girl as Irabella? “You are both welcome, then. Good day, Mr. Riddle.”

“Good day, Miss.”

Morgan turned away and squared her shoulders, setting back off for the Owl Post to see if her reply had come yet, mind whirling around the idea of Voldemort having been engaged to be married – and to a waitress at that.

Before she knew it, she was standing in line at the Post Office, and it was her turn. She shook her head lightly and smiled at the clerk, who was looking at her curiously. “I sent a letter out earlier, and I wanted to see if the owl had yet returned with a reply, please. It would be for Morgan Stewart.”

The clerk smiled brightly and reached under the counter for a small scroll tagged with her name. As he handed it over to her, she pulled a sickle from her purse and gave it to him in exchange, thanking him for the prompt service.

Stepping back out into the late morning June sunshine, she enlarged and unrolled the scroll and read through its contents with a soft smile on her face, all thoughts of Irabella the waitress, Tom Riddle, and the future Dark Lord Voldemort wiped from her mind.

A few more steps brought her to the approved Apparation point outside the Owl Post, and with a quick twist and a quiet crack, Morgan disappeared from Diagon Alley.

=========MM/HG=========

“I apologize for sending an owl, but I was unsure as to the best way to contact you short of simply showing up in your back garden uninvited.” Morgan stepped through the kitchen door and draped her shawl over a waiting hand.

“It was a little unexpected, certainly, but one of the best ways to get in touch quickly. We have just put in a telephone, but with your recent extended absence, you wouldn’t have known that.” Isobel’s voice was warm and inviting as she carefully hung the delicate silk shawl from a peg on the wall. She turned and gestured toward the door leading to her sitting room with a smile on her face. “Why don’t we go have a seat and you can tell me what brings you to see me today. Tea?”

“Thank you, but no tea for me. I’ve just had a cup in Diagon Alley while waiting for your reply.” The two women settled into comfortable chairs, Isobel picking up an elaborate needlepoint piece and moving the needle and thread with nimble, dexterous fingers, plying her craft. “So, what can I do for you, Morgan?”

“I need some advice, and possibly a bit of help as well.” Isobel cracked one eye upward for a split second before returning her attention to her work in a manner that reminded Morgan so much of the way Minerva would, in her own time, look up from marking papers to monitor students who were taking exams, and she couldn’t help herself but pause and smile softly at the memory before continuing on. “Let me explain. I’m unsure of how much Minerva has told you about my work, but as an Unspeakable, I am frequently sent out on location all over the world. We use all manner of transportation to get where we’re going – normally as a group – but when the job is over and we’re allowed to go our own way, We normally seek out a secluded location and Apparate home.

“This can sometimes be from thousands of miles away, and since meeting Minerva, I have been using The Three Broomsticks as my destination, because I know it is a safe location where I can rest through the aftereffects of such long-distance travel. However, Madam Mairead has informed me that I can no longer do so unless I am able to provide her with prior notice of my arrival, and since, due to the nature of my work, I cannot provide such notice, I have been asked to find another secure location into which I can Apparate and subsequently recover from the process.”

“Go ahead,” Isobel nodded, interested to see where this was headed.

“I have the financial stability to purchase a home for myself now that I have something other than my job to anchor me to the UK, and I know that in only a couple of years, Minerva’s Mastery program will be over, and with it, so will the stipend and flat that Professor Dumbledore is providing her with while she studies. You know the nature of our relationship, and that while I am in the country, we both live in her flat. Once the flat is no longer available, I would like to have purchased a house with a bit of land for privacy and gotten it ready for us to move into, but given how long I am normally out of the country, I simply don’t have time to do everything that needs doing. Thus, my reason for being here.

“I trust you, Isobel, because you have shown yourself worthy of it, and because since Minerva will be getting far more use of the house than I will, I would like to buy something near enough that the two of you can visit without worrying about Apparating, but far enough away that you will have your space when you need it. Do you know of anything nearby that might be both suitable and available?”

Isobel’s fingers had slowed and stopped as the explanation had gone on, and she sat in stunned silence for a brief moment. Of all the things she thought Morgan may be coming to speak with her about, this had not been one of them. Bits of idle gossip and news flitted through her mind quickly before settling on three items.

“I may know of a few places close enough, yet with the distance you require. Are you looking for something rather large, or smaller and more intimate? What kind of budget are you considering? Do you mind a bit of necessary work to be done? There’s much to consider in the purchase of a home.” She put away the needlepoint frame and crossed her hands on her lap, awaiting answers.

“I do not mind if there is work to be done, as long as you are willing to help oversee the work. I’m not in for long this trip, and it will need to be ready by the time I come back so that it is available for me to Apparate into. Personally, I would rather something smaller, but not tiny,” Isobel mentally crossed one of her options out, “but as I said, this will be more for Minerva’s benefit than mine, although I will have a more immediate use for it than will she, so whatever you find that you think she would prefer, I’m certain I will love as well.”

Isobel’s decision was nearly made, however there was one more consideration she needed to discuss. “And your price range?”

“I don’t want to sound as though I am being a braggart, but there is little I expect will be outside of what I can easily spend. Do you have something in mind already?” This was almost too good to be true.

“Possibly. The house I’m currently thinking of is selling for around a thousand pounds, I believe. It’s just a touch smaller than this one, but with a larger park surrounding it for more privacy. It is close by, but not too close, and should be all the house you two will ever need.”

“Is there any way I can see it today?” Morgan glanced down at her watch. “I still have plenty of time before Minerva’s set to be home. I’d like to keep this all a surprise for when we get ready to move in if at all possible.”

“We should be able to. Let’s pop down into the village and I’ll check with the agent.”

An hour later, the pair returned to their seats, sipping at glasses of cool water after their trek. The house hadn’t been at all what Morgan was looking for. It had been filled with dark, stodgy wooden-paneled walls, smoke-stained furniture and tapestries, and the air inside was tainted with the smell of the small rodents which had begun to overtake it.

“I apologize for that, Morgan. I had been told it was in much better repair than that.” Isobel shook her head disappointedly.

“No, it’s perfectly alright. You couldn’t possibly have known. I mean, I don’t mind putting a little work into something to make it livable, but I don’t think anything short of magic could set that place to rights. In addition, it was much larger than anything Minerva and I will need. I’m thinking more something with only two or three bedrooms, a working kitchen, eating, and living area, and a bathroom or two. Something light and airy and open. Perhaps some water nearby would be lovely.” Morgan took another sip from her water glass, her eyes upturned and to one side as she thought earnestly, beginning to picture the perfect home in her mind.

“I don’t know of anything like that currently for sale, but I know a few people I can talk with who may know of something more suitable.”

“Thank you for all your assistance, Isobel. I should be in for two weeks this time before I have to leave again, so I don’t have too long, but there’s time enough to find the right place. I don’t want to buy something just to say I’ve bought something, you know.” Morgan looked down at her watch again as Isobel nodded in agreement. “I really need to get going so I can sort out dinner before Minerva gets home, but shall I telephone you in a couple days to see if there’s any progress?”

“Yes, I should have some news for you by the day after tomorrow. Let me just give you a copy of the telephone number before you leave.”

The two women stood and made their way back into the kitchen, taking their water glasses with them.

“You two should come for luncheon on Saturday. The boys will be in for the summer by then, and I know they’re as eager to see you as they are to see their sister. You’ve made a big impression on both of them.” Isobel spoke quietly as she took a small pad of paper and a pencil from somewhere and copied down the exchange number the telephone company had given them, giving the slip of paper over to Morgan, who tucked it safely away in her bag.

“I’ll relay the invitation to Minerva, but I know she’ll be happy to come. Thank you for having us, and thank you again for all your help, Isobel. You can’t know how much I appreciate it.” Morgan threw her shawl back around her shoulders and arranged the ends over her arms.

Isobel responded with a noncommittal platitude, and saw Morgan out to the Apparation shed. After the soft pop of a smooth disappearance, she stood there for a moment in thought, shaking her head lightly from side to side as both sides of an argument flashed back and forth in her mind. “Snap out of it, Is; she’s fine. _They’re_ fine. There’s work to be done,” she murmured to herself. Her spine straightened, solid steel bolstering her bones, and she stepped briskly back into the kitchen, determination written in the faint lines on her face.

=========MM/HG=========

Back in London, Morgan made quick work of her afternoon shopping, and by the time Minerva got home, dinner was simmering quietly on the stove, bread coming crisp and hot from the oven. Morgan was sitting relaxed at the table, a glass of wine close at hand, and another waiting for Minerva.

“That smells delicious, Morgan. Do I have time to slip out of these dirty things and take a quick shower?” She disappeared through the bedroom door as she spoke, depositing her handbag and hat in their designated place while waiting for a response.

“Mm, yes, you should have just enough.” Morgan sat up straighter and sipped at her wine, savoring the rich flavor of the aged vintage on which she’d splurged. “Want some company?”

Minerva’s response was muffled as she wiggled out of her dress, and Morgan’s lips quirked up on one side in amusement. “What was that, Min?”

A tousled head peeked around the corner of the doorframe. “I said ‘if you like.’” The head disappeared for a moment before Minerva came out of the bedroom, heading for the bathroom and her shower. Morgan sat back in her seat and took another small sip of her wine, marveling at the view presented to her. The long, graceful limbs, working in perfect harmony with one another, the smooth, pale skin, unmarred by scars except for the small one on her knee, left over from a fall during a Quidditch game in her sixth year, and…

Morgan’s eyes narrowed and glued in on a faint bruise, just above Minerva’s hip where her side turned into her back. The glass of wine forgotten, she jumped up and crossed the room before Minerva could even make it through the bathroom door, and knelt beside her, fingers probing gently at the discoloration. “What happened here, then?”

“Just a minor mishap during my lesson today. I was helping Master Ashmole reorganize a storage closet in preparation for the summer holiday and a box fell and clipped me on its way down.” She winced as Morgan put a bit too much pressure on the most tender part of the purpled skin. “It was nothing major, honestly.”

“Whether or not it was a big incident, Min, I can’t allow this to stay.” She pressed her lips gently to the spot and stood, cradling Minerva’s face between her hands before placing another soft kiss to waiting lips. “Go ahead and get your shower. We’ll take care of this after.”

“Oh, fine, _Mum_.” Minerva rolled her eyes and disappeared through the bathroom door, the sound of running water starting seconds after. Morgan smiled at her antics, and then went into the spare bedroom. A moment of digging through her little beaded bag yielded a tiny vial of the essence of leech, which would help draw the excess blood out of the bruise before the small tin of bruise paste could be used to alleviate the soreness and return the skin to its previous unmarked hue. The paste could be used on its own, but it worked best in conjunction with the leech essence.

She stowed the little bag back away and carried the medicinal supplies back into the kitchen with her, setting them aside while she checked on dinner. Knowing Minerva wouldn’t take long in the shower, she went ahead and dished out the food and brought everything to the table, topping off her glass of wine as she did so.

After only a couple more minutes, Minerva emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her thick bathrobe, a towel twisted around her head to soak up the water from her hair as it dried. She sat at the table and took her first sip of wine, eyes closing momentarily in appreciation of the flavor of the dark liquid.

They passed the meal in quiet conversation, enjoying the food, the wine, and each other’s company, and shared dishwashing duties when they were finished. Morgan braided Minerva’s hair before it was completely dried, and had her lie on the soft rug in front of the fireplace while she retrieved the bruise remedies from where she’d left them in the kitchen.

Minerva stretched luxuriously in the warmth of the fire, the feel of the rug against her bare skin delicious. She crossed her arms at the wrist and rested her cheek on top, eyes closing as she tried to relax. Her back arched upward into Morgan’s touch, fingers drifting lightly down the curve of her spine and further, over the swell of her buttocks before returning to the blue and purple area on her hip.

“It looks worse now than it did earlier. How does it feel?” Morgan’s voice was as gentle as her touch, the low rumble of it as relaxing as the rug and the fire.

“A bit sore, but it doesn’t hurt much.”

“This will likely sting a bit as it works. The essence of leech isn’t the most pleasant sensation on the skin, but it does make this a bit easier.”

“Essence of leech? Not just the bruise paste then?”

“The two work best when used together.”

“I’ve not heard of that before, but I’m willing to give it a chance if you say it’s better.”

A fragment of a memory flitted across Morgan’s mind; Madam Pomfrey applying the two-step process two a deep bruise she’d gotten while running from Remus before rescuing Sirius, and telling her it was a recent development based on her own joint research with Professor Snape. The color drained from her face and her hands shook lightly at the faux-pas, but she gathered her wits quickly and brushed it off, hoping for the best.

Minerva felt as Morgan’s fingers massaged an oily liquid into her bruise that must have been the leech essence. An odd sensation spread across the area, feeling as though a dozen or so leeches were attached to her skin, bringing all the displaced blood to the surface. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it was far from something she wanted to feel again.

“Feels a bit strange, doesn’t it?”

She hissed and winced as another round was applied to the deeper parts of the injury, a fresh set of leeches feeling as though they’d been attached. “Just a bit, aye.”

“Nearly there, Min. Just try and hold still.” Cool fingers rubbed a third and final layer of the oil over her tender skin, watching as the blood bubbled up to the surface, turning the skin a deep purple, almost black in the center. Morgan grabbed a damp washcloth and wiped away the essence of leech.

Seeing Minerva relax as the sensation began to abate, she reached next for the tin of bruise paste, unscrewed the lid, and smeared a thin layer of the thick salve over the darkened spot, watching as the colors began to fade from purple, moving through shades of blue to green to yellow, and finally fading back to blend into the pale flawlessness of the rest of Minerva’s skin. Using the clean side of the washcloth, Morgan cleaned the sticky unguent agent away.

“Better?”

Minerva moved a bit, testing out the muscles and newly repaired veins and vessels. “Still a little sore, but much better. Thank you, Morgan.” Pushing herself up from the rug, she sat up and twisted around to lean back against the sofa, legs outstretched toward the cheerfully crackling fire, enjoying the naughtily decadent feeling of the rug underneath her bare bottom and the heat of the fire, warm on her naked skin.

Completely relaxed, she watched with lidded eyes as Morgan deftly capped off the vial of leech essence and replaced the lid on the tin of bruise paste. With a graceful twist of the fingers, the dirty washcloth was banished to the bathroom to be rinsed before going into the hamper to await laundry. As another twist sent the vial and tin flying into the spare room where Morgan kept her things, one of the blond strands slipped free of its bonds and drifted down over her cheek.

Unable to stop herself, Minerva’s hand rose to lift the stray lock and tuck it back behind Morgan’s ear, fingers dwelling for a moment, drifting up and around the shell of Morgan’s earlobe, tracing it delicately, causing her eyes to slam shut, a shiver overtaking Morgan’s still-clothed body.

With a couple of whispered words, Minerva sent Morgan’s clothing to the bedroom, and the hairpins to scatter across the dining table. As naked now as her lover, Morgan moved closer, Minerva’s fingers twisted into the wild curls and pulling her gently along until their noses nudged tenderly together.

Morgan straddled Minerva’s outstretched legs on her knees, fists bracing her on either side of the woman seated before her, knees inching forward, but not breaking the hold of those impossibly green eyes. As she got ever closer, she was able to take the weight off her hands and skimmed them up Minerva’s side, causing the muscles there to ripple and shudder behind the gentle touch. Nails raked lightly over hard pink nipples before continuing up over Minerva’s shoulders, where her arms finally came to rest just as her knees completed their quest as well, bringing their chests flush against each other and settling downward, moist centers coming to rest together.

Minerva’s empty hand moved up Morgan’s back to rest with her fingers coming over Morgan’s shoulder, and with a groan, they moved together to finally seal the kiss they’d been waiting on, panting breaths mingling hotly while they’d gotten situated.

Finally, however, the waiting was over, and the night was filled with flickering firelight flashing over heated skin, the crackles and pops of the burning wood joined by breathy moans and grunts as fingers grazed, lips and tongues caressed, teeth nibbled, and sweat-slicked bodies moved in tandem, pressures between them growing and building until there were shouts from each of them in turn, limbs quaking in completion. Melted together, they remained on the rug and slept, exhausted from their activities, through the night.

Early the next morning, as dawn’s first pink light began to filter through the windows, they woke and the process began anew, true love of the heart making itself manifest in the flesh, both again on the rug and then later in the shower as they cleansed themselves of the sweat their activities had wrought.

After satiating their desires for each other, they worked together to prepare breakfast before sitting down to eat.

Scooping up the last spoon of her porridge, Morgan savored the final bite and sat back, a hand on her full stomach and a look of contentment on her face. Whatever other problems they might have in the future, this was something they would always have together; these brief moments of utter happiness, and if things ended up not working out, she would at least have the memories of these times with her Min.

“What’s that look for?” Minerva softly questioned, having finished her own breakfast.

“Just… I’m happy. I have the love and adoration of the most beautiful woman I will ever have the pleasure to meet, and as though that wasn’t enough, she can cook the absolute best breakfasts.”

Minerva’s face flushed slightly at the compliments. “You can thank Mum for the breakfast skills; she’s the one who taught me to cook.”

“I do need to tell your mum thanks for teaching you to cook. Maybe I’ll do that on Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you last night. I saw your mum yesterday and she’s invited us up on Saturday for lunch since the boys will be home from school.”

“How… where did you see Mum?”

“Oh, I had a few questions so I popped up and had a visit.”

Minerva sat there for a moment, brows furrowed as she thought, but as the clock chimed seven times, the worries fled her mind as she realized what the time was. “It’s seven o’clock! I’ve got to hurry if I don’t want to be late!”

She jumped up from the table, pressed a kiss to the top of Morgan’s still-damp curls, and disappeared frantically into the bedroom to pull herself together.

Morgan sat and sipped at her tea, smiling at the sounds coming from the other room as Minerva rushed around to get ready. There was a loud thump followed by a colorful string of curses that Morgan hadn’t thought Minerva had known. “Are you alright in there?”

“I’m fine, blast it all!” Minerva yelled back, frustration evident in her tone. “I just tripped over my bloody boots.”

Another muffled stream escaped the bedroom, and Morgan was barely able to restrain her laughter. Fifteen frantic minutes later, Minerva rushed out of the bedroom, hair barely contained and eyes wild as she began looking in the sofa, under the cushions, feeling around in the thick rug in front of the fire, and getting more harried the longer she looked.

“ _Accio Minerva’s wand._ ” Morgan’s words were quiet, and the long, thin piece of dark wood came sailing from where Minerva had left it when she came in the previous evening to slap into Morgan’s hand with a satisfying snap.

“Looking for this,” she asked, a smirk on her lips and a twinkle in her eye. Minerva stood and saw her wand in Morgan’s hand, lips twisting into a hard grimace that Morgan recognized from her school days. It was a look she’d most often seen when she and Harry and Ron had gotten into trouble for something they knew they shouldn’t have been doing.

“You know that’s what I’m looking for,” Minerva snapped.

“Come here, and calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She moved briskly across the room and held her hand out for the wand. “I’m going to be late!”

“No, you won’t. You have plenty of time, so calm down.” Morgan stood and pressed the wand into Minerva’s palm before reaching up to smooth the stray strands of hair back down where they were supposed to be, muttering spell words under her breath that would make the hair stay before bending Minerva’s head forward and tilting up to press a kiss to her forehead. “Now, you’re ready, and you have half an hour before you’re meant to be there. Calm down,” she implored, and saw as Minerva’s body crumpled up as the tension left all in one go, “pull yourself together, and then go. If you try to apparate in this state, you’ll splinch yourself, and I refuse to allow that to happen.”

“Thank you, Morgan,” Minerva whispered before gathering her wits. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Always.”

With a quick smile to each other and a long, lingering kiss, Minerva pulled herself away and turned to disapparate.

Lips unable to turn themselves down, even with the prospect of Minerva being gone all day, Morgan turned and began washing up the breakfast dishes. Deciding to do them the Muggle way, she drew up a sink full of hot, soapy water and began scrubbing away. Several minutes later, she was drying her hands on a kitchen towel when an owl pecked at the window. She opened the window and let the bird in, handing over a leftover piece of crispy bacon in return for the scroll she removed from its leg, and with a soft hoot and a nod of thanks, the owl crunched the bacon down and left.

Enlarging and unrolling the tiny bit of parchment, Morgan found a note from Isobel asking if she could come back up that morning. Hoping it had to do with news on a house, Morgan quickly dressed and fixed her hair and the flat was filled with another quiet crack as she disapparated away North to Sarclet and her would-be in-laws.

=========MM/HG=========

Breath refused to enter her lungs. It was beautiful. It was secluded. There was a small loch nearby, and the quiet sound of the waves lapping at the rocky shore was utterly calming. The surrounding hills were covered with wild heather, moving in the breeze and spreading their aromatic pollen to tease at the nose. There was a tall Mountain Ash not far from the cottage with one overhanging branch that would be perfect for a rope swing, though there was currently no swing to be had.

And there, in the shade of the tall tree with its gently swinging branches, just off the shore of the loch, was the cottage itself. Its outer walls were made of rounded grey stones, randomly interspersed with similarly rounded stones of bright red, though Morgan couldn’t fathom from where the red ones had come. The roof was densely thatched, showing areas of wear that would need to be repaired before it was again habitable, but it was a minor flaw. The building itself was a rounded triskele, three distinct circular structures which met and formed a sort of triangle in the middle with one of the three circles slightly larger than the other two.

There were a few cutouts in the frame; windows, letting in the sunshine with pale yellow curtains fluttering inward, and in the center triangle where the three circles met was a door made of oak planks painted a hunter green, a few chips and divots in the wood and paint giving it character to spare.

In short, it was breathtaking, and Morgan found she could not draw air into her lungs for a moment. “May I?” The words croaked from her throat and a hand left its position pressed against her mouth to gesture to the door.

“Of course,” Isobel responded, smiling warmly. “It should be open, or so the agent told me.”

Cool, clean air was finally dragged into unwilling lungs as she stepped forward, reaching for the knob in the center of the door. With a quick twist and a little shove, the door creaked open, the hinges loudly protesting their use without the aid of oil.

The agent had been by earlier and opened all the windows to let in fresh air, but there was still a hint of the staleness that had pervaded the cottage before then lingering on.

The center triangular area was the main living area, and was dominated by a large round fireplace made of red brick in the center; a fire pit smelling of old, damp ashes topped by a chimney narrowing upward like a funnel to allow the smoke to exit through a pipe at the center of the roof. It was quite large enough to allow for usage as a Floo Network access point if one wanted it connected, yet not so large as to completely overwhelm the open room.

Along the left wall was an archway leading into the kitchen and dining room, occupying one of the three circles, and along the right wall were two doorways, each one leading into another of the two remaining circular rooms.

Morgan wandered first into the doorway on the right and found a room with subtly curved bookshelves along the walls. There were no books on the shelves, and no furniture, but in her mind, she could envision two desks in the center, facing each other where she and Minerva could work, each on their own projects, but still together. She could see dark rugs on the stone floor, and comfortable chairs and sofas for sitting and reading. There was no lighting or lamps, but in her vision, there was a ship’s wheel, a light affixed atop each spoke, hanging from old rope pulleys directly over the desks, spilling its warm light over the entire room. Her hand rose to drift along the smooth dark wood of one of the shelves, fingers coming away dusty and full of possibilities.

Almost in a daze, she left the library and slowly stepped back into the center room before making her way to the last door. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the latch and headed into the bedroom. This was the largest of the three circles, having plenty of room along one curved wall for a large bed, an armoire on either side to hold their clothing, and a flat wall several feet from where the foot of the bed would be that led into the bathroom, which had just enough room for a toilet and lavatory and a small claw foot tub, just big enough for one. _That’s one thing that will have to change._ She loved the idea of the deep standalone bathtub, but she wanted to share it with Minerva, and this one was far too small for that. It also needed to be fitted with a shower, because as much as she adored a good relaxing soak, she needed the shower to actually feel clean.

Leaving the bedroom, she toured back through the living area and into the kitchen and dining area, making mental notes of all the things she needed to have changed and all the furnishings she would need to make the house livable, or at least ready for her arrival the next summer. She fished out a small bit of parchment and a dark pencil and began writing out her notes, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Completely lost in the process, she missed the sound of Isobel entering the cottage, her heels striking against the stone and echoing in the empty space. When Isobel’s hand gently touched her shoulder, she jumped and the pencil in her hand spun into a gripped position, ready to strike out at her attacker. Seeing who it was, she relaxed her stance, her hand falling to her side.

“That’s quite a reaction, Morgan. Expecting someone less savory?”

“My apologies. It seems my body has still not quite left the war behind me.”

“Aye, I understand. I, of course, was never out on the front, but I’ve seen it in too many of our local men and the young ones who went off to serve, both in the Magical war and the Muggle one. It was a tough time.”

“I … yes, it was.” Morgan set the pencil down on top of her parchment and scrubbed lightly at her face with the heels of her hands.

Leaving her to compose herself, Isobel picked up the parchment and began reading at the notes. “It looks as though you’ve decided this is the place then, from what you’ve written here.”

“Mm, yes. I think this place is absolutely perfect.”

“Are you certain you can afford it? They’re asking a bit much for it, I think, given some of the repairs you’ve mentioned here.”

“I don’t think £800 is too much, and given just how much I love it … I’d have been willing to pay more. The thing is, I’ll be needing your help to make sure all the proper repairs and renovations are done – I trust that you’ll know who to contact hereabouts to get everything done right, and I can leave you with access to my vault so you can pay all the workers, but there will be some necessary charms work to do as well. I know you don’t use magic normally, but once all the work has been completed, I’ll need to put the cottage under Fidelius Charms with you as the temporary secret-keeper until I can pass that along to Minerva at the right time. Will you be alright with that?”

Isobel kept looking over the list Morgan had drawn up, quietly thinking about the logistics of getting things done, and the responsibility of the secrecy charms when she had sworn to herself and to Robert that she wouldn’t use magic unless absolutely necessary, and the last thing she wanted was to have to pop down to London to visit Gringotts in order to pay the workmen.

“I think that, as long as you perform the Fidelius and I needn’t touch my own wand, I’ll be alright with that part of it, but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of apparating to Diagon Alley to visit the bank. Is there any way you could set up a more local Muggle account for me to use?”

“Of course, if that’s what you would prefer. I’ll do that right away. If you don’t mind waiting here for just a short while, I’ll pop down to Gringotts, take out enough to cover the purchase, and double that to ensure you have enough for all the work, and then I’ll come back and we can go set up the account with you as a signatory agent and sign all the paperwork for the house purchase, and then you can go from there.”

“That sounds fine, though I shouldn’t need another £800 to pay for the work and furnishings. That’s a lot of money, Morgan.”

“I’d rather you have too much in there than not enough.”

Isobel nodded grimly, not wanting to think about being responsible for so much money. “Well then, be off with you and come back as quick as you can. I’ll be here waiting.”

“Thank you, Isobel. I really appreciate everything you’ve already done and all you’re doing for me.”

“I may have my reservations about you and your relationship with my daughter, and with how often and how long you are gone, but for now you seem to make her happy, and that’s enough for me. I’ll always do what I can to ensure that she’s happy and healthy and loved.”

Morgan reached up to lightly grip Isobel’s shoulder, unable to speak. Instead she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Isobel’s cheek before releasing her, stepping back, and turning to apparate down to London and Gringotts Bank.

Later that afternoon, Morgan Stewart became the owner of a small triskele-shaped cottage on the shores of the Loch of Yarrows, and Isobel McGonagall became its custodian and caretaker in the eyes of the bank in nearby Thrumster, able to draw on the impressive funds deposited there.

That night, lying snuggled in bed next to her Min as they wound down, Morgan reflected upon what she’d done that day, and with an enigmatic smile on her face, she drifted off to sleep, dreams filled with images of her and Minerva in the cottage.

=========MM/HG=========

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye gods, this chapter is finally complete. Special thanks go out to my two best muses, BehindtheBook08 and SassyKinglet21, because without the two of them, this would probably still not be finished.   
> Hopefully Chapter 23 won’t take another seven months to write…


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.
> 
> Well, it’s a bit shorter than normal, and it took me quite a lot longer to write than it’s ever taken before, but we are now officially over 200k words for the story. (Okay, maybe not here on AO3, but on FFN, it's over 200k now.) There’s still a lot to come, and I hope that you all stick with me as my muse continues to evade capture. Thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews. I’m only sorry my degrading mental health won’t allow me to update once weekly as I did in the beginning. You all deserve better, but I seem to be all you have, at least in terms of this story.
> 
> Here, there be dragons, though they be small.
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.

=========MM/HG=========

Minerva stretched and wiped at the sleep in her eyes, voice thick as she stirred from her sleep, not quite ready to leave the warmth of the bed and Morgan’s arms. “Are you certain we must go? It’s the first Saturday of my summer break, and I’d rather spend it here with you.”

“I know, Min, but I promised Isobel we’d be there for lunch, and your mum is one woman I would _not_ want to anger.” Minerva snorted at Morgan’s statement and snuggled deeper into her side, still not ready to get up. “Besides, don’t you want to see the boys and find out how Malcolm did on his NEWTs?”

“Bother the boys, and bother his exams. Everything I want for today is right here.” Long graceful fingers splayed themselves across Morgan’s bare side, pressing slightly to trace along her ribs. As she moved up the faintly ropy scar that curved upward toward Morgan’s breast, the sensitive skin around it tightened and covered itself with goose pimples, causing Morgan’s breath to hitch and a devilish gleam to appear in Minerva’s eyes.

Moving so that her weight was supported by her hands on either side of Morgan’s chest, she retraced her fingers’ previous path with her lips, tongue darting out to slide along the raised tissue, moving ever so slowly up to where the scar ended and past there to capture an impossibly tight, hard nipple in her mouth, causing her lover’s back to arch slightly into her.

Morgan’s eyes drifted shut, enjoying the sensations Minerva was evoking. Her hand rose, skimming up Minerva’s arm and further, trying to find purchase in silky black locks, but the sleep-plait stopped her fingers from reaching their destination. With a frustrated thought, a burst of wandless, nonverbal magic escaped in reaction, vanishing the tie holding the braid together and separating the strands so that they flowed over Minerva’s back and down to tickle Morgan, causing more goose pimples to rise across her skin where the two met. The impediment removed, her fingers twisted into the thick mass, pressing Minerva’s head closer and arching her back again, needing to be closer.

Nipping lightly at the flesh between her teeth, Minerva pulled back, releasing her hold, and whispered, “Still worried about lunch with the boys?”

“Sod the boys. I need you.”

Kissing her way up Morgan’s chest until they were face-to-face with lips nearly touching, she murmured, “Are you positive?”

“Always,” Morgan responded, surging up to capture Minerva’s mouth with her own, melding them together seamlessly.

=========MM/HG=========

A little while later, after their morning tryst was done and they’d rushed through showers and thrown on clothes, Morgan and Minerva apparated far to the north, barely making it to lunch on time.

Isobel put out an impressive spread of food, happy to have her sons home for the summer, knowing this would be the last time she had them both. Listening to all three of her children and Morgan chatter as they ate, Robert joining in periodically with his deep voice, she felt a rush of utter contentment wash over her. Knowing what she did about Morgan and Minerva, and based on the conversations she’d had with both of them concerning their future, she’d begun to think of Morgan as her unofficial daughter-in-law, and thus, she had her entire family together, if only for a little while.

As she’d told Morgan earlier in the week, she did still have her reservations about the nature of their relationship. She hated that they would both have to live in such a state of secrecy, and that they would never be able to consecrate their relationship the way she had with Robert all those years ago, but watching them together, she couldn’t help but see the love between them, and that outweighed most of her objections.

However, she worried about Robert’s reaction if and when he eventually found out. She loved him like no other, but he had a temper, and very strict ideas concerning the institution of marriage and the slow decline of the world’s sexual morality when it came to the idea of waiting for marriage to enter one another’s bed. She feared the potential explosion if things ever came to light, but for now, everyone was happy, and she took the moment to put her worries away and basked in the love of her family.

=========MM/HG=========

“Miss Stewart?”

“I believe I’ve told you it’s alright to just call me Morgan, Malcolm.” Her lips tipped up on one side as she turned away from Minerva and Rob’s discussion of Quidditch and the different Houses’ chances for the Cup for the upcoming year. Minerva remained steadfastly on the side of Gryffindor despite their mediocre team of the last couple of years, and Rob was gloating over Slytherin’s win in the year just ended, hoping his new position as Captain would lead to another win next year.

“So you have. My apologies. Would you care to take a walk with me while these two hash out Quidditch? If the glazed look on your face is any indication, you don’t appear any more interested in the game than I am.” He bowed lightly as he apologized and then offered up his arm to her in invitation. “They can and will go on about it for quite some time.”

“Certainly. Thank you.” She stood and placed her hand in the crook of his bent arm. At Isobel’s questioning glance, he explained that they were only taking a brief walk to get some fresh air and would be back soon. She nodded her approval and went back to her needlepoint, Robert having disappeared into his study after lunch to finish preparations for the next day’s sermon.

Once outside and alone, they began walking in a long circle, looping around the hilltop and the gardens behind the house. “I hope you didn’t mind my little subterfuge. I needed to speak with you about my Apprenticeship Patronage, and couldn’t think of another way to get you away from Minerva since you’ve said she can’t know about it.”

She laughed and looked up at the bright blue sky, little tendrils of white clouds floating high in the distance. It was a truly beautiful day. “I thank you for the interruption, actually. I fear my eyes _were_ rather glazing over at the Quidditch talk, as you said.” She reached over to pat his hand where it rested over her own. “But to business we must go. Have you all the figures I asked you to gather?”

“I do.” He released her hand, reached into his pocket to retrieve a small scroll of parchment, and handed it over to her.

She unrolled the thick paper and scanned over the neat columns of numbers as they continued to walk. Nothing seemed excessive in what he was asking for, based on what she knew of the cost of living in the late forties. His food budget was a bit higher than what Dumbledore was giving Minerva, but he definitely ate more than she did, and she struggled sometimes with getting everything she needed, so Morgan had no problem with that.

“Have you already located the flat? These numbers seem oddly specific rather than an estimate.”

“I have. I’ve spoken with the proprietress of a small hostel just off Diagon Alley, and she has a couple of rooms available. I’ve tentatively picked mine out, as it’s the one most suitably decorated for me and my tastes, but as they all have the same fee schedule, the numbers wouldn’t change if I had to take a different one.”

“Oh, so this will be in Wizarding London rather than Muggle London like Minerva’s flat?”

“Yes. I’ve lived the majority of my life thus far in the Muggle world, apart from the time I’ve been in school, and I’d like to see what it’s like to live without having to constantly hide my wand or the fact that I can do things with the aid of magic.”

They completed their first loop around the house and with a touch to her shoulder, he turned them to walk down the road leading down to the village.

“That’s understandable.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of opening an account with Gringotts so that my pocket money can be transferred with ease, and one of the Goblins helped me set up the contracts to ensure a smooth series of transactions. He was reticent at first, as Goblins will be, but once I mentioned your name as my benefactress, he became the picture of courtesy.”

“That is odd,” she remarked, looking up from the slip of parchment. “Was it Master Ragnok, by chance?”

“I believe that’s what he said his name was.”

“He’s an odd sort of Goblin, but I rather like him.” Looking back over the figures once more, she decided that it all seemed to be legitimate and therefore, to move forward. “Do you have the contracts with you?”

“Yes, they’re in my pocket.” He reached back into his jacket pocket and produced a small set of scrolls, tied together with ribbon. Eying the bundle, she looked at her hands and rather than taking them all and fumbling awkwardly trying to balance them all, she smiled and pulled only one from the ribbon’s confines and set about reading through it. She trusted Malcolm, and she trusted Ragnok to have done things properly, but especially in the Magical world, she’d long since learned the lesson she taught the members of the DA years ago – never put your signature on something without reading it first. She had long ago let go of the animosity she’d felt for Marietta Edgecombe, but she still smirked inwardly when she thought about the still-remaining scars on the other girl’s face.

After ascertaining the legitimacy of the first of the five documents, she pressed her thumb to the line at the bottom and watched as her name appeared on the parchment. The ink seemed to flash for a second, the contract accepting her magical signature, binding the agreement that she would pay this Mrs. Algar the specified amount of rent weekly, with the contract needing renewal every two years or earlier if either party became dissatisfied with the arrangement.

She handed it back to him, watching as it disappeared into his jacket pocket, and withdrew the next, giving it the same treatment. This one outlined the payments to his Defense Master over four years, splitting them into a monthly stipend rather than one annual lump sum the way hers had been paid out.

“Monthly payments?”

“Yes, he prefers it that way so he isn’t tempted to spend it all and have nothing else coming in for several months.”

She shrugged lightly, again pressing her thumb to the line. “If that’s how he wants it.” This scroll followed the first into his jacket pocket. The last three followed in quick succession, outlining the contracts with Flourish and Blotts for any texts he might require, Scribbulus for his parchment, ink, and quills, and finally the contract directly with Gringotts for his monthly stipend of spending money. As the last pieces of parchment disappeared back into his pocket, they were nearing the house again, having made the trek halfway down to the church before turning around. With a quick half-bow and a gentlemanly smile, he tucked her left hand back into the crook of his right elbow, settling his left hand over hers, and together they returned inside to rejoin the rest of the family.

=========MM/HG=========

For someone who, in essence, sought to control time by use of her ingenious invention, Morgan found that the next week passed entirely too quickly. Days were spent together, but also apart as Morgan and Minerva went about their separate daily tasks.

Minerva spent time going back over her lessons to prevent any detail from slipping her mind during the break, as well as reading the academic journals on several subjects, poring over them for ideas for her Thesis Project. She still had two years as an apprentice, but she never had been one to leave anything to the last minute, and this was no exception.

Morgan’s daytime hours were spent mostly split between household chores and trips out to the shops. Monday she went by the bank and confirmed with Master Ragnok that all of Malcolm’s contracts had been filed properly. She instructed him that if any of the contracts needed adjustments and she couldn’t be reached to use his own discretion on whether to approve or deny the changes.

“I trust that you will do right by me and by the other parties, Master Ragnok. I won’t always be available, and I don’t want any animosity to build between Mr. McGonagall and his teachers and suppliers simply because I cannot be reached. You have not yet steered me wrong, and I don’t think you ever would.”

His hard black eyes had glittered and his chest had puffed out with pride at her belief in him. It was such a rarity for any Witch or Wizard to have such trust in a Goblin, other than trusting that they would guard the gold in their bank from outside influences with their dying breaths, and even that trust was colored by the population’s belief that they only did so from their own self-serving greed. He had not known this Miss Stewart very long, but already he held more respect for her than for any other human for whom he had opened or closed an account during his tenure.

She returned on Wednesday with another investment idea. His advice was that it did not seem to be a sound one at that time, and as it was one she’d only found while flipping through one of Minerva’s journals, she followed his suggestion and did not make the investment. She would look into it once she returned to her own time, and make the adjustment on her next trip if need be. After all, even without any shrewd investments, the money she had, with accumulated interest over the next sixty years, was still substantial, however, she wanted to prevent all the catastrophic losses she could, in order to help provide for Minerva and make sure that she would never be forced to do without anything.

Well, without anything except for herself.

Friday night had passed much like the others from earlier in the week, except that Morgan found herself awake at half three in the morning, Minerva curled into her side and lightly snoring, brown eyes open and staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows move across the tile. Warm tears were pouring from her eyes, running down the mild crow’s-feet and down, soaking into the hair at her temples as she thought about how much she would miss the younger, more open Minerva, but knowing that she would have only a month or so before she could return, whereas Min would live an entire year before she came back. The list tucked into her desk back home drew itself up in her mind, and she could see the ever-increasing distance between visits as time went on, culminating in what she knew would be an at least eight-year gap between the last visit on the list and her own time.

The tears came faster and thicker as the image in her mind shifted, changing from the list to the older face of the woman she loved, the barest hints of silver entering her temples, her own worry lines deeper and more pronounced, and her brightly glittering eyes dulled with sorrow as she spoke about her absentee lover.

She could give Min all the money in the world, and it still wouldn’t make up for all the time she would be away. She closed her eyes tightly against the tears, the blood pounding in her head almost obscuring the soft words that Minerva uttered.

“Are you okay, Morgan? Why are you crying?”

Cool fingertips rose to swipe gently at the salty liquid streaming down the side of her face. When no response was forthcoming, she spoke again, worry thick on her tongue. “ _A rúnsearc_ , what is it?”

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Morgan lifted her hand to press against Minerva’s as it laid across her cheek. “I’ll be alright. Sometimes I just need to have a good cry and get it out. Don’t worry.”

“Of course I worry. It’s who I am. I’m always going to worry, even when nothing’s going on at all, and so especially when I wake up to see you sobbing, naturally, I’m going to worry.”

Morgan moved and pressed a soft kiss against the top of Minerva’s head. She still hated all the things Minerva would have to go through over the course of her life, but there was no need for her to share her own fears and anxieties with Minerva – not that there was much she could share about it all anyway. Those deeper worry lines and the sad, dulled eyes would come because they had come, and there was nothing she could do about it. The only thing she could do was enjoy the time she had with her Min, get through it all, and once it was all over and out in the open, she would deal with the consequences then. Until then, however…

“I love you, Min.” She put her arms around Minerva, snuggling her even deeper into her side, Minerva’s ear pressed tightly against her chest. “You hear my heart as it beats in my chest? It does so for you. Even when I’m not here, know that it beats and bleeds for you, my darling.”

“I love you, too.” Already Minerva’s voice was muffled and sleep-soft, and latching onto that, Morgan let go of her sorrows for a moment and allowed herself to drift off, fingers tracing their way up and down Minerva’s arm.

=========MM/HG=========

All too soon, Sunday came, and with it, time for Morgan to return home and resume her life as Hermione. After a tearful goodbye, Morgan apparated north, the hard soles of her shoes crunching on the gravel along the shore of the loch where her new house was located. As she had anticipated, it was deserted as none of the workers would be there on Sunday, and she took a few minutes to compose herself, wandering slowly through the rooms of her little cottage. There had been little progress made in the week since she’d purchased it, but already there were signs of work scattered around. The stale air had all been let out, replaced by the cool, crisp scents of the surroundings. She could pick up hints of the water, brought in by the brisk breeze as it rushed over the loch’s surface, the fresh greenery from the evergreens, and from the hills, the flowery aroma of heather.

All it needed was the heady perfume that made up Minerva, and it would be perfect. Her fingers ghosted over the wood of the doorframe as she stood and looked into what would become their bedroom, and she smiled, imagining what it would look like when she returned the following year.

Impressing into her mind the memory of this room, she mentally named it _Minerva’s Gift_ so that she would have a name to reference when she used the Time Crystal on her return. She only hoped there would be a bed or a cot or sofa there for her to collapse into, and that there would be no workmen present when she popped in. As hard as it would be to explain to Wizards, Muggle workmen would be a disaster.

Shaking her head, she dismissed her fears. “All will be well. Nothing will go wrong. Nothing _can_ go wrong. I can do this.” She pressed her hand against her upper arm where the glamour-covered tattoo sat and said with confidence, “ _Arj._ ”

As she reappeared in her own time, she sighed, trying to remember where Hermione had left off in her life before Morgan had picked hers back up. She cancelled the glamours, tucked away Morgan’s things, restored her normal array of wards, and settled herself into her desk, trying to piece things back together.

=========MM/HG=========

Hours later, she finally felt like she’d returned to Hermione and had left Morgan in the past. She’d pored over all the notes Statira had sent her regarding the brewing stages of the month’s Lycanthropy study variants. She was excited to see how the changes to the cauldron materials would affect each potion and its recipient.

She set her quill down and stood to stretch, hearing several vertebrae popping as she did. She walked into the kitchen, contemplating whether or not she felt like cooking or if it was going to be a takeaway kind of night, when the tapping of a beak on her kitchen window startled her. She opened the window to let the owl in and found a note from Harry tied to its leg. In his familiar messy script, she found an invitation to join him and Luna for dinner in – she paused reading to check her watch – an hour. Time with her friends and a home-cooked meal she didn’t have to prepare? There was no way she could possibly say no to that.

Ignoring the early grumbles of her stomach, Hermione jumped in the shower, allowing the hot water to relax muscles tense from a day spent hunched over her desk. After taking the time to properly do her hair up and find clean and comfortable clothing to wear, she apparated into the CM’s back garden only five minutes shy of the time Harry’s note had specified.

Kreacher had outdone himself with their meal. It was simple enough, bangers and mash with the required onion gravy and Yorkshire pudding – Luna had a craving and he was only too happy to oblige – but along with the company and conversation, it was simply perfect.

It was only after dinner that things began to go downhill.

They had moved into the library, and were settled in with glasses of wine for Harry and Hermione and sparkling water for Luna, the conversation flowing smoothly. Luna confirmed with Hermione that her fitting appointment was set and that her dress would be ready in time. The Muggle dressmaker Luna had chosen had promised to have all four gowns done in plenty of time, Luna’s own dress having its final adjustments done just the week before the wedding to allow for her swelling belly. Hermione smiled wistfully watching her friend’s hand curl protectively over her starter bump. She and Ginny had their appointments scheduled for some time, but had gotten Statira’s squeezed in with theirs when Harry and Luna had insisted on adding her as a bridesmaid, having asked Remus to step in as groomsman to finish filling out the expanded party.

As the wedding discussion continued, Harry became more quiet and withdrawn, refilling his wine glass more times that anyone took notice of. When Luna excused herself to the loo, Hermione topped her own glass back off and sat back in her chair, taking advantage of the momentary silence to ruminate on weddings and Min and whether they would ever have one. She certainly wanted to, but it all came down to how Minerva reacted after finding out the truth. She sighed deeply as Luna returned and nestled back into Harry’s side on the settee. “As small as he is, he’s already starting to press against things. I find myself going to the toilet more often as he grows.”

Hermione’s smile was narrow and forced. She was happy for her friends, but her thoughts were filled with Minerva in some floaty old-fashioned white or cream gown, a circlet of flowers crowning her bare head, hair flowing loosely around her shoulders and down her back, a bouquet of matching flowers in her hands, walking slowly toward her, their friends surrounding them, amazement on their faces as they saw the free and caring woman she knew but who didn’t get to make many public appearances with her stern educator façade put on. She was so occupied in thought that she nearly missed as Luna asked if she was alright after her most recent trip to the past. The question startled her back to her present company, and the quizzical look must have betrayed her curiosity on how Luna knew, as an explanation was given straightaway.

“Your normal meeting with her was tonight, if I’m remembering correctly, and you’ve just come from Hogwarts anyway after helping teach. It seems like the opportune time for you to venture back. You’ve plenty of time to recover from the trip before your next scheduled meeting, and seeing her present self, especially after being in the castle with her for the last couple of weeks, would surely make you miss the woman who is your lover enough to force the trip. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

“You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised that you have me figured out.”

“I do happen to know you quite well. That look was filled with what I’ve come to recognize as McGonagall.”

This time, the smile wasn’t forced, erupting brilliantly from her face. “I was imagining her as she might look in a wedding gown.”

“Do you think you’ll ever get the chance to realize the fantasy?”

“I… I don’t know. I can hope, but that’s about all.” She was interrupted by the terse tones of Harry’s accusing voice.

“You know what wedding I fantasize about? My parents’. But I suppose I’ll never get the chance to see it.” Bitterness poured out of him, lubricated by the copious amounts of wine he’d consumed.

“Harry –“

“No. I don’t want to hear all your excuses. All your reasons why it’s not a good idea. On why it can’t be done. Because it _can_ be done, Hermione. You just _won’t_.” He tossed back the last swallow from his glass, and frowned when he tried to refill it and found the bottle empty.

Her lips thinned, breath puffing out of her nose in short bursts, and she stood, leaving her glass on the table beside her chair. “I’m don’t want to argue with you about this again, Harry. You know why I can’t do it; you know why I _won’t_. I’m not even to that point of the timeline yet, and I won’t be for months!”

“But you can sure as hell go back and save Remus and Tonks!” He was standing as well, the tension rolling thickly through the room as he yelled at her.

“I told you, Harry! I had proof that it had been done! I haven’t done that yet either! For fuck’s sake, I thought we’d settled this.” The pins holding her hair up fell out, arcs of electricity moving through the now-loosened curls, visual evidence of her anger that he wouldn’t let the issue go. “I will not risk changing anything without proof that it’s been done. I’m sorry, Harry, but I won’t do it.”

“Proof.” There was a dangerous glint in those deep green eyes as he locked onto what she’d said. “You won’t risk it without _proof_.”

Another large spark haloed her head, and she opened her mouth to retort, but was stopped by a voice normally so musical and full of secrets, but was filled with diamond-edged steel. “Harry James Potter, you stop this – right now! And Hermione, you know I love you and that you are always welcome in our home, but it might be best if you leave now before you and my fiancé do serious harm to one another.”

“Fine,” she spat, stomping her way to the door, hands fisted at her sides. “Love you, too, Luna, and Harry as well, when he’s not being thick. See you next time.”

Luna nodded back at her without looking, her pale eyes locked on Harry.

As she moved through the kitchen toward the back garden and its Apparation point, she could hear Harry and Luna begin yelling at each other before the noise abruptly disappeared as one of them cast a Silencing Charm.

She sat in one of the chairs out back to gather herself before Apparating, not wanting to splinch by doing so angry, and was muttering under her breath to herself about stubborn asses and hotheaded Gryffindor tendencies. Glad she’d permanently sworn them off, she loudly exclaimed, “Boys!”

“We’re not all tossers, are we?”

“Yes, you bloody well are!”

Ron chuckled and sat in the chair next to her. “Who’s set you off on us poor blokes this time?”

She scowled and mumbled Harry’s name.

“What’d he do then? Surely it can’t be all that bad, can it?”

“It’s a bit complicated, but yeah, it really can be.” She sighed raggedly. “You mind giving me a lift home? I’m too angry to apparate safely, but I don’t want to stick around either.”

“Sure,” he replied, a cheeky look appearing on his face as he continued while stowing his pack by the back door. “I’ll even try to not splinch your shoulder off.”

She glared at him playfully. “I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“You did. It’s only certain days when it twinges up now, and mostly then in the off-season when I’m not exercising as regularly.” He offered her a hand up. “You ready?”

“Gods, yes.” She stood and moved effortlessly to wrap her arms around him the way they always had when attempting to Side-Along, tucking her head into his chest and squeezing him in a tight hug. “Thank you, Ron.”

After a moment of awkwardness where he wasn’t sure where to put his hands on a woman who had long been his friend, but had not so long ago also been his lover, he sighed and smiled, hugging her back. A loud crack rent the night, and a moment later, they were in Hermione’s sitting room. “You’re welcome.”

After another squeeze, Hermione let him go and stepped back. “I really appreciate it. I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry with Harry in all the years we’ve been friends.”

“What in the world did he do?”

She stood and looked at him pensively for a moment, making a decision. “Like I said, it’s a bit complicated, but if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“Would I have asked if I didn’t want to know?”

She laughed lightly under her breath. “Oh, there are a good many questions we ask in this life to which we do not actually want the answers once we have them.”

“Still, I did ask.”

“You did, and I’ll answer.” She moved toward the kitchen. “Have a seat. This will take a while. You want something to drink? I can put on some tea or coffee, if you like.”

“Alright, yeah. Whatever you’re making for yourself is fine.”

Some time and two pots of tea later, she finished her story and sat, curled up with her knees under her chin in a corner of her sofa.

“I’m not sure that’s quite what I expected when I asked.”

She smiled crookedly. “I did warn you.”

“You did.” The room got deathly quiet for a moment, the air thick with tension. “So Harry’s pissed because you won’t let him royally fuck up the timeline?”

“Basically.”

“Wanker.”

She burst into laughter at that, the bubble of tension bursting with the noise. “Indeed.”

“You _can_ take others with you though, yeah?”

“Yes, but I haven’t tested it as extensively as solo travel.”

“Any ideas on exactly how far back you could go before your core’s drained?”

“I’m not sure, but expect no more than eighty or perhaps a hundred years. Just making it as far as 1946 had my reserves dangerously low already.”

“Damn.”

“Why the long face?”

He reached up to scratch the back of his head, looking down with a shy smile. “I was only hoping maybe we could have arranged a little trip to the last League championship match the Cannons won, but that was in 1892.”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear Quidditch is all you ever think about.”

“Oi, it’s my career! Of course it’s all I think about.”

“1892, eh? Good gods, that was the year Professor Dumbledore started to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, my team’s been shit for a long time.”

“I don’t know… they had enough sense to take you on.”

“Oh, you’re calling that good sense now and not the worst career decision in the history of stupid jock Wizards?”

“Oh, I never meant the team management were the ones making the horrible decision. You’re obviously a great player, and any team would do well to have you play for them. I just always sort of envisioned you and Harry in Auror training together, moving up the ranks as one of the most feared partnerships in the criminal world.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I thought about that, but you’ve seen Harry in action. There’s no way he doesn’t end up the big boss in the Aurory one of these days, and I love the man, but I couldn’t take it if he was my boss instead of my friend and partner. Stings a bit too much.”

“I can see that,” Hermione admitted, surprised at the insight from him. “How are the meetings going about the transfer?”

Color began rising up his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears crimson, and filling the rest of his face with a slightly darker shade of red. “They’re going alright. I think we’ll come to full agreement on the terms before too much longer. I should be ready to move to the Pride by next season.”

She grinned at his obvious embarrassment, but decided not to comment on it. “I’m glad things are going well for you. I really am.”

“Yeah, me too.” Silence filled the room again as Ron looked down at the floor, visibly debating whether or not to bring something else up. Hermione decided to take pity on him by clearing away the dishes from their tea.

She was rinsing out the pot when he followed her into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter, arms bent behind him as his hands gripped the edge of the countertop. Unable to tear his eyes from his own feet as they shuffled back and forth uncomfortably, he muttered, “McGonagall?”

“Yeah, Ron. McGonagall.” She finished with the teapot and set it in the drain, bottom side up, and turned to lean against the edge of the sink, the small of her back resting against the rounded granite edging, and her arms crossed lightly in front of her. “Why?”

“Just … how’d you know?”

“Know what?” Her eyes scrunched together, wrinkling above her nose, head tilting just to one side.

“That she was the one. Or… or even back with Luna. How’d you…?”

“How’d I know I wasn’t strictly straight?”

“Yeah. That.”

She inhaled sharply before slowly releasing the breath from her lungs. “I can’t say I expected this question from you.”

“Not sure I ever expected the thing with you and Luna, or especially this whole thing with McG, either, but it is what it is, right?” His eyes shifted from left to right and back.

“It is. I … I don’t know how to explain it, Ron. Honestly. It’s not like I just woke up one morning and said ‘Damn I think I’m gay,’ or anything like that. It was more of a gradual realization. Questions that started popping up in my head before I knew they were there. What would it be like to kiss a girl? Would it be different or the same as kissing a boy? Would their skin feel different beneath my fingertips? And then later, once more of these thoughts were conscious ones, I wondered if the beginnings of the realization would mean that I could be affected by a Veela’s thrall. Or if I could still enjoy being with a man. And then there was Luna.

“Being with her answered a lot of those questions for me, and being with you again after answered even more. However, I think the defining moment that said ‘Alright, Hermione, this is it.’ was the moment I got to the past to try and fix things for Minerva and I kissed her. I didn’t even know who I was at the time because of the amnesia from smacking my head, but I knew already that she’d ruined me for anyone else, and gender be damned. She was it. She _is_ it. Whatever happens from that point forward, I’ll never love anyone else the way I love her. I’ve had no doubts. I know it doesn’t work that way for everyone, but you asked how _I_ knew, and that’s it. That’s how. I just … knew.”

“Huh.”

She reached over with one foot and nudged it against his. “Are you going to be okay? You know I’m here for you any time you need me.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s nothing I really want to talk about yet. I just…” His voice trailed off.

“I understand.” She pushed against the lower cabinet with her foot, pulling away from the counter, and stepped toward him. “Hug?”

He looked up then and smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

As she had earlier for the Apparation, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him upright, and tucked her head into his chest. Unlike before, the awkwardness was gone, and he immediately tightened his arms around her as well, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. The two friends stood there for several minutes, taking comfort in each other.

Finally, his grip loosened and she let go, stepping away. “Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man, you know.”

The pair left the kitchen and he grabbed his jacket and pulled it back on. “You’d think so, yeah.”

“He better deserve you.”

“Does McG deserve you?”

“She deserves far better.”

“Better doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah, well. I guess we’ll see once it’s all over and I have to tell her that I’ve been lying to her for sixty-odd years.” She sighed deeply, the lies still weighing heavily on her mind.

“If she loves you even half as much as I can see you love her, then I don’t see how she couldn’t get past it.”

“Thanks, Ron. Thanks for listening and for bringing me home and for being my friend, even after how I’ve treated you.”

“You’re one of my oldest friends, ‘Mione. And you were honest with me from the start. I just wasn’t listening. I’m just happy we’re able to move past it all and be friends again.”

“Me, too.” She hugged him tightly to her again before letting go. “Love you, you know.”

“Of course you do.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “What’s not to love?”

She rolled her eyes at him and laughed. “The list is long and varied, Ron. But I love you anyway, you ass. Now go home.”

“Love you, too, ‘Mione,” he grinned, turning to Disapparate. With a crack, she was again alone in her flat.

Still laughing at him, she headed into her bedroom and pulled her hair loose before combing it out and tying it back into the thick sleep braid she was used to. Stripping down, she climbed between her sheets, wished desperately that Min was there with her, and with a softly murmured _Nox_ plunged the room into darkness, already feeling herself drifting toward sleep.

=========MM/HG=========

“It worked!”

Hermione looked up from her paperwork. Statira Evans was storming quickly into her office, waving a sheaf of parchments in her hand. Her eyes were bright, and the look on her face was nothing less than pure excitement.

“It worked! Okay, so it didn’t _work_ , but oh my sweet Merlin, the results are extraordinary! Hermione, we are really on to something here, and I can’t wait to see what these new formulae do in the simulations – not to _mention_ what they’ll do in next month’s trials!”

Hermione sat back in her chair, setting her quill next to the forms she’d been filling out, and watched and listened as Statira paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly as she ranted and raved. She didn’t say a single word, only waiting to see when the other woman would wind down and be ready to actually discuss the previous night’s trial results.

After several minutes, Statira finally realized that she had been speaking with no response, and drew herself up short when she stopped pacing. Turning to face Hermione, she noted the rise of one eyebrow as it arched up over a very amused expression. “Well, aren’t you excited?”

“Very.”

“You haven’t said a word since I came in!”

“You haven’t given me the opportunity to do so. Tea? Or perhaps you’d prefer coffee,” she offered.

Statira plopped into the chair opposite Hermione’s and tossed the sheaf of parchment on the desktop. “No tea or coffee, thanks. I’m a little keyed up already.”

“I take it things went well then?” Hermione picked up the papers and started shuffling through them, skimming over the results.

“Across the board, the potions brewed in silver cauldrons or stirred with silver rods had better results than those prepared with other metals or glass rods. This is a true breakthrough, Hermione. We are closer than ever to an actual cure – not just a palliative to make things better, but a full on cure. Gods, when you brought this project to me at first, I thought it would never succeed. I thought we would maybe make the current Wolfsbane slightly more effective, but I never thought we’d actually cure it. With this set of results, I really think we’re going to exterminate the Lycanthropic infection.”

As she spoke, Hermione continued reading through the results, excitement growing with every page. She grabbed for her wand and put the old Arithmantic calculations on the wall, not even looking as she input the data from the parchments. Statira watched as the numbers and symbols glowed, and as the darkness of Lyke’s line seemed to grow agitated as the various colored lines began attacking it. Two of the lines zoomed off past the tussle, one headed toward each simulacrum at the far right. Neither made it all the way, each forcibly stopped by Lyke before they could get there, but each went further than the original Wolfsbane formula’s line had ever gotten, and the color of the one headed toward the human representation had an observable color change as it moved, brightening quite a bit, and picking up a hint of copper.

“Hermione,” Statira uttered in a near-whisper.

“I see it.” Hermione’s voice was similarly hushed and awed. Her wand clattered to her desktop before being snatched back up as she tore her attention away from the wall and tore through the parchments looking for the ones with those two recipes so she could copy them with a quick _Geminio_ charm, handing the copies back over to Statira so they could both study them.

“Alright, I’m going to take these with me and get to work figuring out how we can improve them, but gods, Hermione.”

“I know. It’s remarkable.”

The two conferred over the notes a while longer, positing that if results kept moving at the newer, improved pace, they could possibly have a cure within a few months. Statira asked if it would be possible for Hermione to speak with Snape’s portrait again to both inform him of the progress and to ask what his next steps would have been. Hermione didn’t think Minerva would mind if she took that opportunity during her next monthly visit, and so she affirmed the possibility with the Potions Mistress.

After Statira left, Hermione stood and studied the lines on the wall, watching as Lyke’s line seemed to laugh at her that none of her new variables had yet defeated him. The darkness and malevolence rolled off the line in waves, giving the appearance of growth, the air thickening around it.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, rippling downward along her arms, her back, her legs, until it felt as though every hair on her body was rigid. Adrenaline spiraled through her system, and her lips parted as she gasped to breathe the dense air. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” she whispered, her wand moving in jerky circles, but having the required effect nonetheless. Emmett poured from the end of her wand and gamboled around the room, banishing the sensations that Lyke’s line had evoked.

“I’m going to kill you. Not alone, no, but with all the help I’ve got; the people on my side, I am going to murder you. You will cease to exist. And you know it.”

With a final blast of energy that nearly made her stagger, Lyke settled back into its normal state, surging across the board, trying to eradicate the competing colored lines of those potions that would fight him. Hermione smiled. The contagion’s days were numbered, and this Arithmantic representation of it _knew_ that it was dying.

“Die,” she uttered, turning back to her desk and settling back into the paperwork she’d been working on before Statira arrived.

=========MM/HG=========

Poppy’s voice spilled from the silvery Robin as it flitted in front of Hermione’s face. “Please come quickly. You are needed at Hogwarts immediately.”

Hermione’s heart filled with dread after the bird disappeared in a quiet flash. She was supposed to meet Minerva for their regular meeting the following evening, and to get this urgent message from the school’s Healer could only mean that something was wrong. Was it Minerva?

Panic welled up in the back of her throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to beat back the nausea as she jumped out of bed and threw some clothes on. She glanced up at the clock’s face while tying her shoes. _5:36_

_Oh gods, don’t let it be Minerva. Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue, don’t let it be Minerva. This can’t be happening._

She forced herself to keep breathing and snatched up her wand. Seconds later, she was at the front gates of Hogwarts, pressing her hand against the crest and begging them to open. They remained steadfastly closed, and she railed at them, screaming, begging to be let in, but remembering not to try assaulting the gates lest she be “tossed out on her arse,” as Minerva had once said.

Fumbling with her wand with shaky hands, she called up Emmett and sent him to Poppy to let her know that she’d arrived and couldn’t get in. She waited for several agonizing minutes, tears and snot streaming messily down her face before the light sound of footfalls coming down the path reached her ears. The gates began swinging inward before the person reached her field of view, and Hermione rushed through them as soon as the gap was wide enough to admit her.

“Poppy, is that you,” she called out questioningly.

“No, it’s not Poppy,” came the reply.

Hermione’s head jerked to one side, wide eyes following suit and drinking in the tall form in front of her. Her breath puffed out a word, “ _Minerva_ ,” and she threw herself into Minerva’s arms, grasping tightly at her waist, head tucked into her bosom. “Minerva. Oh gods, you’re alright. Poppy’s message frightened me nearly to death. I thought something had happened to you.”

“No, lass. Not to me. I’m fine.” Minerva held tightly to the witch, and Hermione could hear the pain in her voice.

“Oh, mercy. Who?” She pulled back from the embrace and took a good look at the older form of her lover, reading her face like a book. Minerva had clearly been crying, and tears were falling even as she watched.

“Filius.”

=========MM/HG=========

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you’re all really hoping it doesn’t take another eight months for me to update again, aren’t you? I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.
> 
> I’ve had a number of comments about the terrible plot summary I wrote for this story when I began the journey in December of 2013. Well, I’ve finally done something about that. Special thanks go out to Sela McGrane for answering my call for a favor and writing me a new one. This chapter is honestly… all her fault. Okay, nine-tenths her fault. The other tenth is for SassyKinglet21. Those two are my best Slytherin mates, and are the best friends a girl could have. Thank them. Follow them (on FFN). Fangirl over them like I do. This is dedicated to both of you.
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.

=========MM/HG=========

It should have been dark and stormy, with rain slashing through the material of their cloaks, mixing with their tears to both complement and obscure the depths of their grief. They should all have been shivering, soaked through despite the thick, warm fabrics. Their feet should have been sloshing through mud and muck, freezing their toes inside their boots and causing the muscles and tendons in these furthest extremities to cramp up, unable to sustain the continued abuse.

At the very least, the sun should have been hiding behind grey clouds, not daring to peek out in its own sorrow. One of those gunmetal grey days with a chill in the air would have been acceptable.

Of all the days for Scotland to have a picture perfect day, filled with sunshine and warmth, dust motes floating lazily through the air on invisible currents, this should not be one. The day they gathered to entomb the remains of the brilliant man who had taught nearly all present the fundamentals of Charms work should have been dreary and terrible to match their emotions, but instead, it was as beautiful a day as anyone could have hoped for under other circumstances.

However, it was a day he would have enjoyed, and in the end, that was enough.

=========MM/HG=========

With a heavy heart, Hermione stepped back into the Charms position until the term was over and a permanent replacement could be found. After a consultation with the Sorting Hat, the House Head position was given to the Potions professor, Marcus Stroulger. He had attended Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, but during the interview process, each applicant was sorted to help maintain the balances of house affiliation within the staff. He had been firmly placed within Rowena’s house at that time, and when given the choice between Stroulger and Vector, the Hat had felt that he would be better suited. Minerva had agreed, and thus the mantle was passed along. After a similar discussion, Aurora Sinistra, the Slytherin Head of House and Astronomy Professor was asked to take the Deputy position.

Occupied with teaching and still grieving over Filius, Hermione skipped her May trip to the past. Neither was she sure she would be able to face a happy and vivacious Min when her present Minerva was so distraught over the loss of one of her few remaining friends.

Hermione spent many evenings sequestered away with Minerva, the locations split between the Headmistress’ office, Filius’ former office, into which Hermione was temporarily settled, and the Staff Room. Much of the time was spent in comfortable silence; Minerva working on administration paperwork and Hermione working through marking essays and ensuring the curriculum stayed according to Filius’ plans. Some nights – mostly the ones outside their private offices – they were joined by other members of the Staff. Madam Hooch was in quite often on those nights, showing a tender concern for Minerva that made Hermione wonder about the Flying Instructor’s feelings for the woman she loved.

It was during these nights that the faltering relationship between Hermione and Minerva finished healing itself. Hermione kept her distance, knowing that while the time would soon come for her to see her Min again and be able to touch and love her the way she wanted to with this Minerva, the present was not that time. Minerva found herself trying harder to let go of the feelings she could feel growing for Hermione in favor of the friendship they’d had before the ill-timed mistletoe incident had made the attraction move to the forefront of her mind. Both women were so happy to simply have their friendship back, and they set aside the unresolved sexual tension that still existed. By the time the term was up and exams were finished, they were as close as ever, with little of that tension remaining.

=========MM/HG=========

With the end of the term, the time also arrived for Harry and Luna’s wedding. Harry had come to Hermione at the funeral and apologized for his behavior, and thus the rift between them was healed, however, there had been something in his eyes that told her to keep herself on guard when it came to her friend. He wasn’t done yet with trying to go to the past.

The wedding had been perfect. The weather was warm, but not hot, and there was a gentle breeze blowing over the expansive lawns of the newly rebuilt Potter Manor just outside Godric’s Hollow. The two of them had recited their vows, wrists bound by ribbons made of magic, bare feet caressing the cool grass on which they stood, and the ceremony concluded with their foreheads meeting in a silent prayer before the High Priest and High Priestess announced that the sealing of the bond could commence – and seal it, they did, with a long kiss that inspired a few attendees to whistle loudly while the rest of the crowd applauded uproariously.

The reception was in full swing. There were big white tents set up around the large lawn surrounding the Manor with portable wooden floors beneath so people would have a stable place to sit and eat. These tents were located around a larger, more central tent which contained the long table for the wedding party alongside an open dance floor, the ceiling of this tent draped with fairy lights to provide ambiance. From overhead speakers, soft music drifted down around them, transmitted from somewhere inside the house. A few brave couples were swaying together to the music alongside Harry and Luna, while others sat down to a leisurely meal with friends and acquaintances, enjoying the food and drink.

As part of the bridal party, Hermione had been placed at the head table, but as soon as she finished her food, she quickly made her excuses, stopping by the open bar before continuing to her destination.

Minerva sat alone under one of the back tents, wearily drooping into her chair. The last couple of months had been hard on her. The loss of her friend to the pox they’d shared left her feeling bitter and tired. She had been extremely lucky to have Hermione to finish out the term for her, but she now faced the prospect of trying to fill shoes that were far too large for such a small man to have filled. He had begun teaching only a couple of years before she had, and they’d shared as close a friendship in those thirty-seven years as she had with anyone, family and Morgan aside.

A tear trickled its way down her cheek, and she closed her eyes, trying to fight more from following. She started when she felt something cool nudging against her elbow where it rested on the arm of her chair and surreptitiously wiped the single tear away as her eyes reopened, gaze falling on the two glasses in front of her before moving up to the brunette who had placed them there.

“Hermione?”

“I thought you could use a drink. I have a couple of days before I have to be anywhere important, so I’m planning to get pissed. Join me?” Hermione plopped into the chair beside her.

“I’m not sure about getting ‘pissed,’ as you say, but I definitely needed the drink.”

In silent agreement, they both picked up the small shot of aged firewhiskey and swallowed it down quickly, each relishing the burn as it went down, before moving on to a sip of the larger glass of Gillywater.

“Oh gods, that’s good,” Hermione sighed.

“I ought never to have taught you this. What in the world was I thinking?”

“I think, at the time, you were cursing Albus’ existence, his portrait, and every little reminder of him you kept coming across while moving into his office.” Hermione smiled at the memory with sad eyes. “I think that was the first time since his funeral that I saw you cry.”

“Aye. The man was a terrible pack-rat. And he hadn’t been gone that long. I knew him nearly my whole life, Hermione. Ever since I was eleven and he began teaching me Transfiguration, he’d been part of my life. We both knew an awful lot about each other, but there were things I learned about him after his death that… they still shock me.” Minerva took another sip of her drink. “He was a good man though, for all his faults. He handled so many things badly, but I still believe that at his core, he thought he was doing the right thing, even if it meant hard choices.”

“His methods _were_ deeply flawed, but I’ll grant you that I doubt we’d have made it without his influence.” Hermione caught Minerva’s eyes and raised her glass in salute. “To fallen friends, past and present. To Albus and Filius both, may they rest in peace.”

Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, Minerva raised her glass and the two clinked together softly. They each drank deeply, the silence growing, but not uncomfortably so.

“How has the research with Miss Evans been going? Are you making much progress?”

Hermione’s eyes brightened, unshed tears disappearing. “I think we’re very close, Minerva. Thanks to the information Statira was able to get from Severus’ portrait last month, we think we’re within just a few more months of finding the right formula.”

“How exciting!”

“It really is.”

They chatted idly for several minutes before the Best Man came swaggering over. “Oi, ‘Mione. Dance with me?”

She glanced over at Minerva, who smiled and nodded. “I’ll be alright. Go have your fun.”

Hermione stood and gripped lightly at Minerva’s shoulder, leaning down to press a soft kiss atop her head. “I’ll be back,” she muttered before tucking her hand into the fold of Ron’s arm to be escorted back to the main dance floor.

The sun was just beginning to set, and Minerva was captivated by the vision of Hermione as she and Ron walked away. Her dress was a pale, dusty pink coming over only one shoulder to fit snugly against the top half of her body, the skirt floating in layers around her legs, the bottom going only just below her knees. Her hair was pulled into a tight chignon, a feat only made possible with multiple doses of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, but after the long day, little locks were starting to spring loose around the nape of her neck and around her face. It was overall a very flattering look, and as she laughed, spinning around to the music’s beat in Ronald’s arms, Minerva felt her heart clench in her chest.

Since Filius’ death, she’d been shoving it all to the side, mentally repressing her growing attraction to the younger woman, but she made such a lovely picture, and had been so much better in her understanding that Minerva was still deeply in love with Morgan, and she simply couldn’t help herself. Minerva breathed deeply, feeling a tear escape from the corner of her eye. It could never be, but the attraction was very much there. Her eyes closed instinctively, trying to blink back further tears.

She had dealt with it in the past, and she would deal with it again.

“Hello there, beautiful.” She felt fingers wiping at her damp cheek with a handkerchief smelling of lavender and turned her lips up in a sad smile.

“Hello, Ro.”

“Why the tears, dear?” Rolanda Hooch sat in the chair formerly occupied by Hermione. “Same reason it always is when you’re around her lately?”

“Aye.”

“Has she heard anything of Morgan then?”

“No.”

Rolanda sighed. “I wish we knew something. I hate to see you stuck in limbo, waiting to see if one is dead so you can at least think about the other without it ripping your soul to shreds.”

Mimicking her friend’s gesture, Minerva sighed as well.

“Come on then. If you’re going to be sad, you may as well be sad while you dance with me.”

“And if I don’t wish to dance with you?” Minerva arched one eyebrow sharply and looked over the tops of her eyeglasses.

“Come on. You taught me to dance and it isn’t as though I’ve had a great deal of opportunity to use the skill. You know I haven’t. Not since….”

“Aye, I know. He was a good man.”

“He really was. Come on and dance with me.”

Minerva’s eyes rolled, but she smiled softly and stood. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Across the lawn, Hermione stepped out from under the main tent, happy and out of breath after her quick-tempo dancing with Ron. When the next song had begun, slow and romantic, she’d thanked him for the dance and, stopping for a quick drink from the punch bowl, had begun to move back toward where she’d left Minerva.

The vision before her eyes, however, drew her up short. Minerva and Madam Hooch were dancing. It was a very formal, very proper stance, but there was a familiarity there that she hadn’t expected. Was there something there she hadn’t known about?

=========MM/HG=========

Later that night, the Potter family House Elves finished cleaning up after the wedding. All the tents, tables, and floors were packed away, and the lawn was again restored to its pristine cultivation. The three elves, Sparky, Rokay, and Lenka, were putting the heavy trunk with the outside fixtures and decorations back into the basement, along with the crates containing carefully packed wedding china and flatware.

“Should we?” asked Lenka.

“Master Harry might not likes it. He may gives us clothes,” spoke up Rokay fearfully.

“I don’t think Master Harry would gives us clothes,” supposed Sparky, the oldest elf, and most senior amongst the small staff. “Sparky thinks he would want to has it.”

“It might makes him sad though, Sparky.” Lenka looked distraught at the thought of her new Master being unhappy.

“No. We promises Mistress Lily that if anything happens to her and Master James, that young Master Harry would gets this when he gets married. We has to keep our promise,” concluded Sparky.

With a snap of his fingers, a delicate-looking white chest slid out of a hidden nook. The lid was painted with a lily-flower, and the front had the names James and Lily burnt into the wood, along with the date 23rd June 1979. Another snap of his fingers removed all the dust from the birch chest and sent an air-freshening charm to the inside of it.

He touched the inscriptions tenderly. “We still misses you, Master and Mistress, but we is taking good care of the young Master.” Sparky swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And when the new young Master arrives, we will takes care of him as well.”

“It might be a young Mistress, Sparky,” chimed in Lenka. “We doesn’t know.”

“Sparky knows. We will has a young Master.” His tone brooked no further dissention, and none of the three elves spoke again as they came together to carry the chest up to the suite Harry and Luna had indicated they would use. They were already long gone to Norway for their honeymoon – the location having been chosen by Luna – but the three servants of House Potter carried the chest up carefully and situated it at the foot of the bed where it would not be missed when they returned.

=========MM/HG=========

Home from the wedding, Hermione removed her party clothes and stepped into a hot shower, unwilling to try and sleep with so much Sleekeazy’s in her hair. As she massaged the shampoo in, she couldn’t stop herself from frowning. There had definitely been a level of familiarity and comfort between Minerva and Madam Hooch. Rolanda. _Ro_ , as she’d asked Hermione to call her. They danced like people who had been dancing together for years, with Ro taking the lead position. The two of them had made a striking image, twirling and spinning, moving together in perfect harmony.

Soap was swirling down the drain as she thought back to earlier in the evening. When the song had ended, she’d caught the white-haired witch looking at her with a smirk on her face. She’d kissed Minerva’s temple lightly, squeezed her hands, and departed. Hermione had returned, stopping for another round of fire-whiskey on the way, as they both still had plenty of Gillywater.

_“I hope you have one more dance in you for later,” Hermione began, raising the shot of whiskey in a toast. The little glasses clinked before being emptied and replaced with the tumblers of the fruitier Gillywater._

_“Perhaps I do,” Minerva replied, settling back into her chair._

_“You and Ro looked nice dancing together. I admit I was surprised; I’ve only ever seen you take the lead when dancing, apart from the one dance with Professor Dumbledore at the Yule Ball the year of the Triwizard Tournament.”_

_Minerva chuckled lightly. “I can both lead and follow. We were taught both parts when I was young, mostly, I suppose, in case we ever needed to teach the skill. It certainly came in handy that year, trying to teach seven years’ worth of students an art which most parents had let slide by then. Thankfully, Severus had nobody to teach, as all the old Pureblood families still have functions which require the skill to be learned. That would have been a disaster of epic proportions, I think.”_

_Hermione smiled broadly. “I suppose it would have, at that.”_

_“Ro and I tend to swap from time to time when the occasion for a dance arises. I taught her to dance years and years ago, so we take turns leading.” Her eyes were a bit misty at the memories._

_“Oh.” Hermione paused for a moment, watching the emotions play over her lover’s face. “I hadn’t realized you’d known each other that long.”_

_“Oh, aye. Ro’s the oldest friend I have, bar one, and we were always a little closer than I was with the other.”_

Hermione had been surprised at that tidbit of information. She’d never heard Min make any sort of reference to the woman in the past. They had sat and talked for a while longer, sipping at their drinks, and then the strains of an old song began playing, and Hermione noticed the signs of emotional distress appear. Minerva’s eyes had crinkled at the edges, just slightly, and her lips thinned and paled with the pressure she was placing on them.

_“Come on, Minerva. This is as good a song as any, right? I’m calling in that dance now.” She stood and extended her hand, palm up._

_“I… I don’t know.” Minerva swallowed heavily, fighting the sadness and memories the song evoked._

_“Please?”_

_Minerva looked up at Hermione, and there was something in her face as she smiled down softly that took away her resistance. “Very well.” She stood and placed her hand in Hermione’s and allowed herself to be pulled over to the small open area in the center of the tent where she and Ro had danced earlier. As Patsy Cline’s voice rang out about the marketplace in old Algiers, and being sent photographs and souvenirs, Hermione put one hand atop Minerva’s shoulder, feeling the heat of Minerva’s hand along her waist, their other hands gripping lightly together low on the other side._

_Wordlessly, they swayed gently to and fro, slowly moving closer together. Hermione didn’t want to push her luck, but it felt so much like home in Minerva’s arms. “I’m gonna be so alone without you, and I’m hopin’ maybe you’ll be lonesome, too, and blue,” twanged overhead as Hermione’s head finally moved to rest near where her left hand lay on Minerva’s shoulder, tucking her head into the curve of her neck. She heard a soft sigh, and felt as Minerva’s hand tightened on her waist and her head descended just the inch or two necessary to press her cheek against the smooth curve of the chignon she’d fought so hard to tame her hair into that morning._

The dance hadn’t gone on much longer, and once it was over, Minerva begged off the rest of the evening, saying she needed to begin getting the word out there and trying to fill the Charms position. It had felt like avoidance, but Hermione had let it go and let Minerva go with a chaste kiss on the cheek. After the older woman had popped away with a quiet crack, Hermione had gulped down the rest of her Gillywater and tried to keep her earlier promise to get well and truly pissed.

Several drinks, a dance with Luna, one with Harry, and a couple more with Ron later, she cheered as Luna threw her bouquet, well on her way to her goal. She laughed with everyone else as Ginny caught the flowers tightly in her fist before leaning into a blushing Neville’s side. Their wedding was set for the following month, and Hermione’s final fitting was coming up quickly.

The Potters had left shortly thereafter under a shower of birdseed, and Hermione hadn’t lasted long after that. She’d confirmed with the strange trio of Elves that the cleanup would be handled and cracked away herself.

Satisfied that all the Sleekeazy’s was out of her hair, she rushed through the rest of her shower before casting a quick drying charm on herself and stumbling her way into the bedroom where she fell into her bed with a giggle. Pulling the duvet partially over her nakedness, she quickly succumbed to sleep, aided by the alcohol she’d consumed, and dreamed of weddings and dresses and dances with her Min.

=========MM/HG=========

Minerva had similar dreams that night, only hers were rather troubled instead of the warm, pleasant ones Hermione was drifting through. Two versions of the same song played on repeat at two different weddings as she danced with two different women, memories tangling together in a rush.

She woke the next morning, unrested and more than a little cranky. With a sigh, she pulled her protesting bones out of bed and took a long shower, stepping out of the water in a slightly better mood than she’d been in when she stepped in.

After a bit of breakfast and tea, she slid into her desk chair and began writing to all the people she knew who held Masteries in Charms to see if they knew of anyone qualified to teach come September. It had been an excuse to leave the night before, but it was work that _did_ need doing, and there was no time like the present.

=========MM/HG=========

Hermione woke and stretched languidly, enjoying the feel of bed linens moving across her skin. One eye cracked open to look at the alarm clock, and the red digits flickered brightly at her: _6:39_. Her other eye popped open and she smiled widely. Feeling energized by an excellent night’s sleep, she bounded out of bed and pulled her running clothes on. Her hair was quickly knotted into tight french-braided pigtails to keep it out of her face, and she grabbed her mostly-empty expanded knapsack on her way to the kitchen. A cold bottle of water was tossed into the bag, the bag was tossed over her shoulders, and only a moment later, she was out the door to run her now three-mile morning circuit.

Chest heaving, she returned an hour later, water bottle having been emptied and surreptitiously refilled with a quick _Aguamenti_ charm, only to be drained again. She dropped the bottle into the sink, the bag on the couch, and peeled her running clothes off before jumping into a hot shower. The rest of the morning was spent tidying her flat from the previous night and the morning. Laundry was done, the bed was stripped, cleaned, and remade, and every surface was gleaming. Kreacher did an excellent job of keeping the small flat clean when he popped in, but she took a certain pleasure from cleaning the way her mum always had when she was small.

Still nearly vibrating with restless energy, she looked around the flat for something else to do. She paced from room to room, trying to find something she’d overlooked, but between her cleaning spree and Kreacher’s normal careful work, she could find nothing.

Trying to rein in her overactive brain, she dropped gracelessly into her desk chair, thinking maybe there was some work she could do. When she opened the desktop, however, she grabbed recklessly at a couple of seemingly random items before dashing into the bedroom and undoing the painstaking cleaning job she’d just finished.

Dresses, shoes, underwear, stockings, and all manner of frippery were tossed from the closet onto the freshly-made bed. They were soon joined by a small suitcase. A quick wave of her wand and a word muttered under her breath had all the things neatly folded and packed away in only a few seconds. Various other small items flew from the closet into the case before it closed itself, shrunk, and disappeared into the small beaded bag that Hermione had carried through the last year of the war.

Her modern outfit was tossed into the hamper, and she strode into the bathroom, wand in hand. Hermione closed her eyes and cast her glamours, and when they reopened, Morgan stared back at her from the full-length mirror covering part of the wall. She took a moment to take in her appearance, much as she had when Sam had given her the secret to aging herself while glamoured. She had wondered, then, if taking to a more active lifestyle would change the way older Morgan appeared, and it had.

She was still clearly older, breasts hanging a bit lower, belly a bit softer, skin a bit more wizened, with wrinkles starting to appear in the corners of her eyes and the points of her smile, a few veins more prevalent in her legs than normal, but her legs and arms were more defined than they had been the first time, and there were more muscles visible under the softness of age. The hint of grey at her temples made her smile widen, deepening the lines which served as proof of the happy life she’d led – or would lead.

Morgan Stewart, aged 84, was still a damned fine specimen of woman, if she did have to say so herself. A quick bit of math in her head told her that according to what she’d been able to ascertain of Wizards’ aging meant she should look no older than about 50, and she could see where that was plausible in the way she looked and moved.

The ropy scar along her ribs was barely visible anymore, and felt less clearly defined under her fingertips. She weighed the heavier breasts in her hands and moved her thumbs over the peaks, watching as they tightened under the stimulation. One hand skimmed over her fleshy tummy while the other continued to squeeze and caress her breast. Lower and lower it went, barely ghosting over her skin before lightly scratching at the coarse hair at the apex of her thighs. Her lips parted, breaths coming more quickly as she dipped between her folds to press against her clit. She was already slick, fingers gliding effortlessly, moving against the tight bundle of nerves. She gasped and took a step back, leaning her back against the papered wall before sliding down to sit on the floor, incapable of supporting her own weight in that moment.

Her knees drew up and she could see everything she was doing in the mirror, sending another jolt of warmth to her core. She pinched at her nipple before moving that hand down as well, pressing a finger into herself and then another. The angle was a little awkward, but her eyes closed and her head slammed back against the wall, both hands working furiously together until she could take it no longer, and she came with a soft cry.

She sat there on the floor for several minutes, waiting for her breathing to return to normal and the jelly to leave her knees in favor of the hard bones and cartilage which would allow her to move. Her eyes opened, and her face and chest were flushed pink, her eyes were glittering, and the tender flesh now on display was dark from the rush of blood that accompanied a good orgasm. She smiled at her reflection again, unable to stop herself.

Another moment passed and Morgan stood, bracing herself against the wall. She carefully washed her hands at the lavatory and used a wet washcloth to clean the evidence of her misbehavior away from her thighs and upward. She used her wand to then clean the washcloth and send it to the hamper for a full washing later. She leaned down and splashed a bit of water on her face. Pulling the dry face towel away, she looked into her own eyes in the mirror, smiled, and whispered, “Yes. It’s time.”

With that, she went back into the bedroom, pulled on a set of time-appropriate clothing, and consulted her list. She put up her wards, slipped the thin, expandable chain over her neck, her beaded bag into her dress pocket, her wand into its secret pocket, and grasped the blue crystal tightly in her fist. “Minerva’s Gift. Six AM. The Twelfth of June 1948. _Ausafr_!”

=========MM/HG=========

She appeared in the bedroom, as intended, and collapsed onto a pile of thick canvas sheets. She woke a short time later and coughed at the smell of paint lingering on the drape-cloths. Standing quickly, she brushed away any remaining paint chips before taking a short tour. There had been a lot of work done in the year since she’d last seen the cottage, she noticed. Much of the stonework had been cleaned and the mortar replaced, the fireplace in the main room was immaculately redone, and most of the wooden bookshelves had been replaced in the library. It looked as though the roof had been replaced, and the kitchen was almost totally ripped out. There were ladders, stepstools, and tools left everywhere, and it was quite evident that the cottage was still under a renovation order, though things were starting to come together. Isobel and the crews she had hired were doing very well, Morgan thought, and she would need to thank them while she was in.

She stepped outside and breathed in the scent of the wind rolling off the loch, bringing with it the aroma of the highlands. It was a smell she could never describe in words, but she thought she could happily live forever there in their little cottage, surrounded by the fresh breeze.

That, however, would have to wait until it was ready and Minerva was there, calling it home with her.

=========MM/HG=========

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys. It’s a little shorter than usual, but honestly, this felt like the best stopping point with what’s coming up next. And we’re down to a five-month update! Thank you all so much for your patience. I’m hoping this trend in faster updates continues, and I’ll see if I can’t make the next chapter just a bit longer than usual to make up for the shorter length of this one.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which – sadly enough – isn’t me.
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.

=========MM/HG=========

“Rob?” A low but feminine voice called out, tearing his gaze away from the not-too-distant coastline, where he’d been staring for the last couple of hours, lost in deep thought.

When he saw Minerva and Morgan coming out of the Apparation shack, his features brightened at the sight of the woman he considered his sister-in-law. “Morgan! I didn’t know you were back. It’s good to see you.” He crossed the short distance quickly to give her a brief, tight hug.

“Oh, and I’m chopped haggis, am I?” Minerva feigned being hurt at his greeting of Morgan, but was inwardly pleased that they got along so well.

“Of course you are. You’re only my _sister_ , whereas Morgan here is my one true love.” His green and brown eyes twinkled merrily, in direct contrast to the dark sadness that had filled them before Morgan had called out to him.

Minerva looked around quickly, making sure nobody else was close enough to hear. “Hands off my woman, you scoundrel,” she teased back.

Morgan laughed gaily at their antics, happy to be back amongst her lover’s family. She hadn’t missed the darkness that had shrouded Rob when they arrived, but was heartened to see how much lighter he was with them. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him in the quiet moments to see if she could suss out what was bothering him.

=========MM/HG=========

The sounds of coughing and wheezing surrounded them as they made their rounds to spoon thin broth into waiting mouths, hoping it could be swallowed through the pain and swollen tissues. Hours passed, and days, the group cooling fevered brows, emptying refuse buckets, and comforting the sick and the family members who came to visit, noses and mouths covered by cloth masks in an attempt to prevent themselves from falling ill as well.

Thankfully, Minerva and her brothers had been treated with the Muggles’ new vaccine just before Minerva had left for Hogwarts, and of course Morgan had received hers with the standard run of pre-school shots in her childhood, so they felt reasonably safe in being part of the team caring for those in the village too poor to afford treatment for the deadly Diphtheria at the hospital in nearby Wick.

Morgan wished she could use Magical means to ease the suffering of her would-be father-in-law’s parishioners. It would be so easy to pour a single vial of a simple potion into the large vat of broth that was kept simmering on the hearth and help relieve the labored breathing surrounding them, but Isobel had already warned Minerva and Morgan against such actions. She didn’t want to see any of them incarcerated in Azkaban Prison for violating the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, no matter how much good the vial of potion could do.

Minerva lightly touched Morgan’s shoulder, jerking her head toward the door when Morgan looked up, and the two stepped out of the stuffy room into the fresh air of an early summer evening, dropping their cloth masks into a basket set aside for collecting them.

Morgan sighed tiredly, wanting so badly to help, but knowing that she couldn’t. Not only was there the Statute of Secrecy as a concern, but there was also the idea of meddling with time. What if she somehow affected the timeline by helping someone she wasn’t meant to save? She tried to accept that whatever happened already _had_ happened in her own future, so that she wasn’t crushed with anxieties over shopping for groceries while in the past, but when it came to something this serious, it was much harder to maintain the laissez-faire attitude.

As they did most days upon leaving the sickroom, Minerva locked their arms together, the two leaning on each other as they trudged up the hill to the parsonage which had been her childhood home.

“Miss McGonagall?”

Minerva’s eyes screwed tightly shut for a moment when she heard the soft call from behind them. She gathered her courage and her composure and turned, squeezing lightly to Morgan’s arm as she did so.

“Mister McGregor. What may I do for you?”

Morgan inwardly giggled at how much Min reminded her of Professor McGonagall when she used to get onto the trio for whatever mischief they had been up to, but outwardly offered a smile to the man who, like she, was in love with Minerva.

He refused to look either of them in the eye, crumpling his hat in his hands and worrying a rock against the dirt with his booted foot. Swallowing past an almost visible lump in his throat, he spoke. “There are actually a couple of things I wished to discuss with you if you have a moment.”

“I’m listening,” she said with sincerity.

His gaze slid up to her face before cutting back and forth between her and Morgan. “Might I have that moment with you alone? I…”

“Have you met my friend from London? This is Miss Morgan Stewart, and if your concerns over the privacy of a shared moment have to do with our past, then you should know that Miss Stewart is fully aware of it. She is my dearest friend.” Minerva interrupted, trying to head off the offer she knew was forthcoming while remaining within the bounds of social propriety.

His blue eyes widened and he stammered out a greeting to Morgan. “I was unaware that you had told anyone. I … haven’t done the same.” Minerva nodded, and he continued. “Of course, that was part of what I wished to discuss – a renewal of the offer that you once accepted – but I also wanted to inquire as to the health of my sister before I go in. She was showing no signs of improvement when I came to visit last evening, and I was hoping…”

“Dorothea is the same. While her condition has not deteriorated, neither has it advanced. She will be happy to see you.”

“I thank you for the update.” His focus moved back to Minerva’s face, as though drinking in the sight of her, healthy, even if deeply tired from a day of nursing those who would more than likely succumb to the disease. “And as to the other?”

Minerva sighed. “My answer remains the same, Dougal. I am sorry, but it is still a no.”

He could see the sadness in her eyes as she again rejected his proposal. “Will I ever be given a reason, Minerva?”

“Perhaps someday, I shall be in a position to grant you the knowledge you seek, but for now, I am not. I am sorry.” She inclined her head in his direction and bent her knees in a brief curtsey. “Good day, Mister McGregor.”

“Right. Good day, Miss McGonagall, Miss Stewart.”

“Mister McGregor,” Morgan replied. “It was a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

He nodded tersely, shoving his mangled hat on top of his head. “You as well, Miss Stewart. Good-bye.” He turned and made his way back to the makeshift hospital ward, disappearing inside to sit with his ailing sister for a while.

“I wish I _could_ tell him why. I wish I could tell him all of the reasons why a match between us is impossible, but I know I never can.”

“I know, Min, I know.”

They turned back and silently resumed their close walk up to the Manse, both heads filled with thoughts.

=========MM/HG=========

Five days later, dressed in solemn black dresses, Minerva and Morgan descended the hill with the rest of the McGonagalls to attend the last round of funerals that the diphtheria outbreak had wrought.

Morgan was quiet and thoughtful as Robert preached the sermons, and the gathered congregation sang the songs. Each person's life was celebrated in turn, the whole village mourning their losses.

Robert's voice rang out with the final name of the day, “Dorothea McGregor,” causing Morgan to cast a glance at the deceased woman's brother. Dougal was standing, shoulders hunched over, at the end of the front row of gathered mourners, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks.

She could sense how much it was hurting Min to not go and comfort him, but it wouldn't have been appropriate to make such a move, her relationship with Morgan notwithstanding, unless she had some sort of favorable understanding with the young man. Instead it fell to the mourner standing beside him to pass a handkerchief into his clenched hand so that he could attempt to regain his composure.

Morgan reached down to clasp her hand tightly with Minerva’s, taking advantage of a situation where many friends were doing the same to help support each other in what had turned into a dreadful time for the community to be able to publicly show a bit of affection in solidarity.

Min squeezed back, reaching up with her free hand to remove her own tears with a gloved thumb.

After the service was complete, the couple moved to where he remained standing stiffly, clean handkerchief still tucked into his fist, unused.

Minerva tried to console him with a soft voice. “I am so sorry, Dougal.”

“You…” His red-rimmed eyes glittered as he looked up accusingly. “You said she wasn't getting worse. You said…” He stopped to swallow and to finally swipe his cheeks with the sleeve of his coat, the scrap of fabric from his neighbor fluttering unheeded to the ground. “You said she wasn't deteriorating, Minerva, but she was; she did, and now she's dead. I would have stayed longer, talked to her more, held her hand in mine and told her everything would be alright!” His grief was pouring out as anger, raising his voice and his fist to the air. “There was so much I could have done in her last few days, but you lied to me, Minerva McGonagall. You stole those last moments from me, and I will never be able to forgive you for that.”

He spat on the ground by her feet. “I don't know why I expected the truth from you. You've been lying to me for the last five years. Why not lie about this as well? Take away yet another thing I love, you do that well.”

“Dougal, I…”

He interrupted the apology he knew was coming, doubting its sincerity. “Just stop. Your words are false and I have heard enough.” He turned to go, head down and tears flowing once again. “I’ve heard enough,” he whispered. With that, he walked away.

Minerva, face streaked with tears, took a step to follow him, but was stopped by the gentle pressure Morgan applied to their still joined hands.

“Stay, Min. You would only do more harm if you went after him right now. He’s hurt and angry and your words would mean nothing but more pain.”

“But I…”

“I know, love, I do. One of my friends used to be the same way over a perceived slight, but if left alone to think about things, he always got past it. Give him time.”

Minerva sniffled and accepted the lacy handkerchief that Morgan had quickly conjured in her skirt pocket to avoid notice by the Muggle villagers, using the soft square of fabric to clean her face and blow her nose before handing it back to Morgan, who pretended to shove it back into her pocket while Vanishing it back into the ether.

In comforting silence, they began the walk up the hill towards the Manse atop it. When they were well past the reach of anyone's eyes or ears, Minerva leaned her head down and over onto Morgan's shoulder, speaking in a small voice. “I am so ready to get back to our flat.”

“As am I,” Morgan replied softly.

“I am sorry so much of your visit has been taken up with caring for the ill.” She frowned. “How much longer until you must go?”

“I have another week.”

She sighed. “It isn't long enough.”

“It never is.”

=========MM/HG=========

While Minerva slept on unawares, Morgan slipped down toward the sharp scent of brewing coffee, hoping for a moment alone with Isobel.

Luckily, the McGonagall matriarch was the kitchen's only occupant when Morgan came through the door. “Coffee? Or would you prefer tea this morning?” Isobel sounded tired.

“Coffee today,” Morgan replied, reaching for the heavy stoneware mug she'd taken to using in the mornings and filling it.

“I take it my daughter will be sleeping in?”

“I thought I would give her a bit longer today before we head back to London.” She took a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes and savoring the heat and the flavor of the brew. “Merlin, that’s good coffee.”

Isobel muttered her thanks while continuing to prepare breakfast.

“I also wanted to speak with you concerning the cottage,” Morgan stated after another sip.

“Yes?” Isobel’s hands didn’t stop their work, but she spared a second to look at Morgan questioningly.

“Will it be ready by this time next year? Have there been any problems? I don’t want to step on your toes at all; I’m simply curious as to the progress of getting it ready for Minerva to be able to move into once her Mastery program is finished and she no longer has the flat.”

“Oh, is that all? Yes, the repairs should be completed well before then. I don’t anticipate the work taking more than another three months.”

“That soon? That’s great!”

“Aye. Did you want me to see about furnishing it for you?”

Morgan took a moment to contemplate the question. “No,” she drew out the word before continuing thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind some basic items being stocked up – firewood and the like will be needed, and maybe a few kitchen necessities – but as this will be Min’s home, and I’ll be here to move her into it, I’d like to let her pick out her own furniture.”

Isobel nodded, hands still in perpetual motion. “Understandable.”

“Have you had any issues with funding?”

Isobel huffed good-naturedly. “Oh, heavens no. There shall be far more left in that account than I could ever use for the work that’s left to be done. I told you when you made the deposit last year it was too much.”

“You did, but I maintain my position of preferring there be too much in there than not enough.” Morgan drained the last sip of coffee from her cup and washed it out in the sink, leaving the clean mug to dry on the draining board. “Thank you, Isobel, for taking care of this for me. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, Morgan,” Isobel replied. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my children.”

“I know.” She rounded the island and pressed a quick kiss to Isobel’s cheek. “That’s how mothers should be, but I thank you nonetheless, because there are too many mothers out there who wouldn’t accept someone like me into their families.”

At this, Isobel’s hands finally paused, one reaching up to pat Morgan’s cheek lightly. “Someone like you? Any mother would be lucky to have you as a daughter-in-law, even if you can’t take the official title.”

Morgan swallowed past the lump in her throat as Isobel returned to her work.

“Now, get back upstairs and wake my daughter up. Everyone else is already up and about,” Isobel ordered with a ghost of a smile on her face.

“Yes, ma’am,” Morgan replied, cheekily saluting her de facto mother-in-law as she left the room, causing the older woman to laugh under her breath.

Once upstairs, Morgan began her trek down the hall to Minerva’s room when she saw Malcolm’s door open, its occupant slouching against the bed, sitting on the floor, a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. “Malcolm?” she called quietly.

He reached up to quickly swipe at his face, startled by her voice. “Who… oh, it’s you.” He breathed in raggedly, trying to regain his composure. “Can I help you with something?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. May I come in?”

“Oh, erm, sure.” He drew his legs up, preparing to stand.

“Don’t bother getting up,” she said as she entered the room. “I’ll join you.”

He seemed surprised, but relaxed his legs again, one remaining bent in front of him as she slid down the side of the bed to sit beside him.

“Now, what’s wrong? I admit I don’t know you very well, but in all the times I’ve seen you, I’ve never noticed you to be of the habit of sitting slouched on the floor.”

A dry puff of air passed his lips, masquerading as a laugh. “No. No, it isn’t something I do often. It’s just… I’ve gotten a bit of bad news.” He passed the parchment to her.

Morgan smoothed the wrinkles from the thick paper and read its contents. “A wedding invitation? How is that bad news?”

“I’m rather madly in love with the bride.” His gaze moved to her briefly before returning to studying his shoes. “Have been for some time. I thought perhaps she felt the same way – we dated for a few months since leaving Hogwarts – but she has apparently decided to go back to her previous beau.”

“I’m so sorry, Malcolm.” She reached over to put her arm around his back, rubbing it soothingly.

“Yeah, so am I,” he remarked. “It wouldn’t be so bad to be thrown over, you know, but it might have been nice for her to tell me first.”

She didn’t know what to say in response. She knew from her own timeline that the marriage in question was successful, but had been unaware of Minerva’s brother’s involvement with her friend’s grandmother.

“I’ll be alright. Not right away, I don’t think… it’ll take some time to get over her, but eventually, I’ll be,” he inhaled sharply again, “okay. I don’t know that I’ll ever love anyone else the way I do her, but time’s supposed to help with these things, or so they say.” He looked over at her, pain etched on his features. “Right?”

“That _is_ what they say.” She pulled him into a sideways hug.

Malcolm nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For … I don’t know, for noticing me sitting here and for listening to me.”

“Of course.”

He stood and reached down to help her back to her feet. They dusted themselves off in silence. Morgan was nearly through the doorway when his voice stopped her. “Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a good friend, you know. I know this is going to sound odd, but I’m glad you injured yourself that day.”

She arched an eyebrow, not verbally replying.

Malcolm’s face colored. “Not… I’m sorry you were injured, but I’m glad that as a result, you and my sister became friends. You’re good for her, and I’m happy to have gotten to know you.”

“My life would be poorer for never having met her, for sure, and you all as well.”

He smiled at her and bowed at the waist.

She returned the gesture with a curtsey and stepped the rest of the way through the doorway, finally finishing her trek to Minerva’s room and slipping inside, closing the door behind her.

She leaned back against the door, hands behind her, her head thunking against its surface. _Lies, lies, and more lies. I’m not a good friend at all, Malcolm._ Her thoughts were loud in her head. _At least I can be honest with Isobel about my relationship with Minerva, but still, I must lie about every other part of myself with everyone here, including the person I’d most like to be completely honest with._

Across the room, Minerva began to stir to wakefulness. Leaving her thoughts behind her, Morgan crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers running through silky black strands.

=========MM/HG=========

Minerva’s eyes fluttered open, wincing against the late morning sunlight rushing through the half-open curtains. She burrowed her head into the pillow, a low grunt escaping her throat, and flipped over to curl into Morgan’s side. Though she was still deep in sleep, Morgan’s arm curled around Minerva’s waist, nestling her body more firmly against her own, a smile ghosting across her lips.

Normally the last to awake, Minerva decided to take advantage of the opportunity to observe her lover in such a state of repose. When they’d first met, there had been the haze of missing memories keeping Morgan on edge, and ever since, there was something behind her eyes that Minerva couldn’t quite put her finger on. She knew that with a job as an Unspeakable, there were parts of Morgan’s life she would never have access to, and although she trusted her completely, she knew there were lies and hidden truths behind much of what she was able to say.

In this moment, however, while relaxed and sleeping, there was a complete lack of artifice present in her features, and this made Minerva feel giddy and in awe of the beauty. It was a revelation. Unable to stop herself, she reached up and traced her fingers over Morgan’s brows before coming back to the curve of her nose and across her cheekbones. Her thumb brushed across velvet lips, causing them to turn up at the corners into a smile.

“Good morning, Min.” Her voice was low and husky, thick with sleep.

“It is a good morning,” Minerva replied, moving her hand back down to curve over Morgan’s ribs, tightening her hold on the woman she felt incredibly lucky to have in her life.

Morgan’s fingers sifted carefully through Minerva’s hair, relishing the soft feel of silk as it rushed along the sensitive digits, bringing the other hand up to scratch at her nose before rubbing lightly over the rest of her face, Minerva’s grazing touches having caused an itch under the skin.

The two women lay there for several minutes, absorbing the simple pleasure of bare contact and the warmth and comfort of a lover’s presence, unrestrained in their own bed and away from the restrictions of a parents’ home. Soon enough, however, it was no longer quite enough, and the lazy morning gave way to gentle caresses and soft brushings of fingers and tongues across familiar skin.

Later, after showers, they worked together to fix breakfast so that their other hunger might be as sated as well as the carnal had been earlier. Over porridge with fresh fruit and tea, plans for the day were made.

=========MM/HG=========

The Three Broomsticks was busy, but not overwhelmingly so. There were still several empty tables, but most had at least one occupant, and the long row of bar stools were mostly filled. Two gentlemen, one fair-haired, one darker, seated on a couple of the stools, were sipping at tumblers of firewhiskey as they talked in low voices.

“It isn’t right.”

“I never said it was,” replied his friend. “I only meant it wasn’t their fault.”

“How could it _not_ be their fault? If it hadn’t been for them, my family might have a future!”

“If you’re going to blame the Muggles for being sick, you might as well blame those who tried to save them and brought it to us.”

“Aye, I blame the damn Muggle-loving bastards, too,” the fair man sneered as he tossed back the rest of his drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar. “I’m going home.”

“You sure you won’t have one more?”

“I’ve better in my cellar, and I can drink in peace there.”

The darker man nodded and finished his drink as well, throwing some coins on the bar to pay the tab. “Sounds like a good idea. See you next Tuesday?”

“I’ll be there.”

Mairead cleared the vacated section of the bar, putting the coins in her till and banishing the dirty glasses to the kitchen before moving to the next seat down. Smiling broadly, she inquired, “Another?”

Morgan turned back toward the wispy blonde. “No, I’m okay,” she answered, gesturing with her half-full glass of Gillywater. “Any idea what those two were talking about?”

“I’m not sure. What did you overhear?”

“Sick Muggles being to blame and something about his family not having a future?”

“Oh, that. It’s an old prejudice gaining new ground. In the Muggle Great War, there were several groups of Witches and Wizards who decided to help out. Many of these groups camped with groups of Muggle soldiers, helping where they could by use of subtle magic and shield charms to protect against the rifles and bombs. It wasn’t a perfect system, but slowly, the tide began turning in the Allies’ favor.

“There was a lot of illness in the trenches and camps, and where some of the Muggles would get sick and quickly recover, we began noticing the Magical population wasn’t getting better as quickly. When the war finally ended and our people came home, many were ill. Our best healers couldn’t figure it out, but they did eventually recover,” Mairead continued her explanation, Morgan nodding where appropriate.

“In the aftermath of a great turmoil like that, it’s common to see a jump in the birth rates.”

Morgan interrupted, “Post-war babies, yes. We’re starting to see the population boom at home as well.”

“Indeed. Well, after that war, we were expecting that swell, and were shocked that it didn’t happen. What happened instead was a lower number of babies born, especially amongst those who had been ill. The mysterious ailment had caused a large number of those infected to become sterile, or near enough.”

Morgan inhaled sharply.

“The Pure-bloods were hit the hardest. The purer the blood, the more problems we tend to have with conception in the best of times, and with this new turn of events, there are more than a few of the old families on the verge of dying out. Many of them had only one son and heir to begin with, and if that heir was suddenly rendered completely unable to reproduce… because of a Muggle illness… well, you can see where there might be some tensions there.”

“Merlin.”

“So the old tensions between Pure-bloods and Muggles were made even tighter. There was a mass withdrawal of Wizards from the Muggle world, and old hatred was made worse as the supremacists were, in a way, proven right; The Muggles may well turn out to be the end of the Wizarding world, without ever even knowing about it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Morgan muttered under her breath. “The supremacists are more responsible for the losses we’ve suffered than the Muggles.”

Mairead looked around surreptitiously. “In your time, perhaps. Here, though unwitting, the Muggles did, in fact, cause it.”

“All they did was become ill and pass it to those with a weaker immune system!” She hissed sharply.

Mairead shrugged. “I don’t disagree with you, dear. But you asked what the gentlemen were talking about.”

Whatever Morgan might have replied to that was swallowed up by a loud shriek from across the room. Minerva and Rosie had been playing a haphazard game of tag, and Minerva caught Rosie, ending the round by picking the little girl up and swinging her around in circles.

Momentarily forgetting the conversation, Morgan relaxed back against the bar, smiling at the spectacle the two of them were causing.

“What are your plans regarding Minerva?” The innkeeper’s question surprised Morgan, bringing her attention back from the woman she loved. Her jaw fell slightly, mouth opening as she tried to formulate an answer.

“Oh, I know that the future you knows exactly where Minerva ends up and mostly how she came to be there, but I’m talking about the time in between now and then. From what you’ve told me, you have a constant presence in her heart over the next half-century, but a rather spotty physical existence, only popping in once a year or so as you have been doing. Will Minerva have her own family at some point? If not, is she happy with that decision, or was it something she felt coerced into because of your inability to be there for her? How exactly can or do you provide for her? The two of you are young, Morgan, but there is decidedly more to building a life together than yearly bouts of sex and romance.”

“I… don’t have all the answers. To my knowledge, she never has children, at least by the time we reach my current ‘present.’ I don’t know how she feels about that; it’s not a conversation that I’ve had with her as either Morgan or my future self. As far as providing for her goes, I have ample financial means, and plans are underway for a house for after her Mastery is complete and Professor Dumbledore’s patronage is over. If I have my say, she will never want for anything, but as you’ve stated, my physical presence in her life will be spotty enough that some things may fall through the cracks. She’s proud enough to not tell me all the things she lives without when I’m not around.”

“You’re buying her a house?”

“Yes, a cottage near her parents.”

Mairead hissed sharply. “Do you have any sort of formal relationship agreement with her, Morgan?”

“How do you mean?”

“Has there been a proposal of marriage? Any sort of formal definition of who you are to one another?”

“Formal? No. It’s not possible for us to marry in this time, not legally, and until the secrets are all aired between us in the future, I wouldn’t be comfortable asking her under a pretense.”

A string of Gaelic curses was muttered under the older woman’s breath. “Morgan, you have to understand that while such a gesture may be acceptable to people who aren’t formally committed to one another in _your_ time, it is completely inappropriate in _this_ one. If you offer her a house without having defined exactly who you are to her and who you plan to be to her in the future, she won’t be able to accept it.”

Morgan’s brows drew in. “Isobel’s in on the plans though. Wouldn’t she have said something if it was going to be a problem?”

“I don’t know Minerva’s mother very well, so I can’t speak for her, but perhaps given that she thinks you are of this time and would know the social stigma this could cause for Minerva, she assumes that some sort of formal agreement is in place.”

“Maybe,” Morgan sighed.

“I’m not trying to step on your toes, Morgan. Merlin knows I have no place in your relationship, for all the love I have for the both of you, but knowing what I know about you, I felt it was prudent to at least mention these things.” Mairead reached across the bar to place her hands atop Morgan’s where they were clasped tightly together in front of her.

“No, I know. It’s just given me a lot to think about.”

“That’s all I meant to do.” She squeezed Morgan’s hands and stepped back to take care of a couple customers further down the bar, giving Morgan a moment to think.

Head swirling with thoughts, Morgan turned back to watch Minerva and Rosie playing. She smiled softly and sadly, knowing that Minerva would never have children of her own, as much as she loved them. _She would make an amazing mother_ , Morgan supposed, blinking back hot tears, _and I’ve taken that away from her._

=========MM/HG=========

“Min?” Morgan’s quiet voice rang through the silence of the room.

“Yes?” Minerva sat her fork beside her plate, picking her napkin off her lap to wipe a bit of sauce off her lip.

Morgan sighed deeply, unsure how to approach the conversation that needed to happen.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Hogsmeade earlier. Is everything alright?” Minerva had been worried at Morgan’s demeanor following a hushed conversation with Mairead while she had been chasing Rosie around the tavern.

“There’s nothing … wrong, per se,” she began. “I just have some questions for you and I’m unsure how to ask, really.”

Minerva’s brows drew in. “I won’t lie; that worries me a bit, but the only way to find out the answers is simply to ask.”

“Just rip the plaster off, right,” Morgan mused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Where do you see yourself going in life?”

Minerva stared at Morgan quizzically. “Where did _that_ question come from?”

“I can explain after… can you answer the question?” Morgan’s eyes were downcast to her plate, picking at her food with her fork, free hand in her lap, fidgeting with a loose string in her skirt.

“I’m not sure how to answer it, honestly. Are we talking about my career or my personal life or … are you talking about our life together?” She stopped for a moment, lungs filling erratically. Was Morgan planning to leave her?

“All of it, really. Where do you see yourself – or us – in five years? In ten? I need to know what you want out of your life, Min.”

Minerva took a moment to think about the question, the silence thick between them. Where was a magical knife to cut through the tension when she needed one? “I…” She swallowed heavily. “In terms of my career, I envision a life of research and development of new Transfigurative Magics and Spells, probably within the Ministry, although if the right offer came from a private firm, I would give that the same consideration as whatever I could get at the Ministry. I know myself well enough to know that I need to continue learning, or whatever job I have will become unbearably stifling. I don’t foresee myself trying to play the political game enough to ever run for Minister, but I don’t feel like a position as Department Head would be too much to aim for, although I know that may take several years.”

She picked up her water glass and took a long sip before continuing. “As far as my … or our … personal life is concerned, my goals are simple. I want you. I want you to be here all the time. I want to build a life with you. I know that constant presence is something you cannot currently offer me, but I am willing to wait until the Department of Mysteries doesn’t take up all of your time so that you can spare more of it for me.”

“What about marriage? Children?”

Minerva scoffed lightly. “Marriage? Is that your way of proposing, Morgan, because it’s a miserable one.”

Morgan sputtered over the sip of water in her mouth.

“To answer those questions though…” she paused for a moment, “of course I would like to get married someday. To you, ideally, but that isn’t an option at this time, and it’s not a problem I see being rectified any time soon.” She reached a hand across the table to grip tightly to Morgan’s fingers. “I am as committed to you as any married couple I know, and I believe that you are just as committed to me. That’s good enough for me… at least until the legal circumstances are more favorable.”

Releasing Morgan’s fingers with a squeeze, she sat back in her chair. “As far as children go,” she stopped to sigh deeply, averting her gaze over Morgan’s shoulder, not really looking at anything. “I am unable to have them, and so that point becomes a nonissue. I love children, I really do, but I will never bear one of my own.”

Morgan looked at her quizzically. “Why… how…?”

“The same way many of the magical families now find their heirs unable to conceive.”

“The illness from the Great War?”

Minerva nodded solemnly. “Aye. Mum and Dad were just a bit too young to have served then, but Mum’s family hosted a few recovering soldiers when Mungo’s filled up, and she was infected. It didn’t impair her own ability to have children, but as far as I know, Malcolm’s the only one of us unaffected. Both Rob and I are all but sterile.”

“Oh, Merlin, Min. I am so sorry. I didn’t know.” Morgan was aghast.

“Tis alright, Morgan. Truly. It isn’t as though the two of us could have children together, anyway.”

Color rushed into Morgan’s cheeks. “That isn’t strictly true, Min, but I concede the point as moot.”

One dark eyebrow arched sharply, Minerva’s nose twitching side-to-side in amusement and curiosity. “Indeed.”

“And if, for some reason, I wasn’t in the picture, would your wants and plans change?”

Minerva paled at the thought of Morgan not being part of her life, and thought about the question. After a long moment, she spoke, slowly and with consideration. “No,” she drew out the word, “I don’t think the plans, at least, would change. I would still want the same career path; that was never dependent on your presence in my life anyway. As far as my personal life goes… who could measure up to you if you weren’t around, _a rúnsearc_? If you left tomorrow and never came back, I’m not certain I could ever love anyone else the way I love you, and anything less would be unacceptable.”

Her words tugged at Morgan’s heartstrings.

“What are your expectations of me in the years to come, Min?”

Again, she took a moment to carefully think about her response. “I want you, here, as often as possible, and for as long as you can stay. While you are away, I would like a way to get in touch with you. I know you said before that with the way the Department of Mysteries works, owls cannot reach you out in the field, but there _must_ be _some_ way for us to keep in contact. There will doubtlessly be times when I need you between visits, and I need to know that if push comes to shove, that can happen.”

Morgan inwardly panicked at this request. Yes, there were ways to contact someone in deep hiding if need be – the Protean charm she had mastered for the DA was the basis of many of them – but none of them, to her knowledge, worked across the fabric of _time_ as well as simple space.

“I’m not sure that’s a request I can grant, Min,” she said regretfully.

“At the very least, you must promise to try and find a way. Talk to your supervisor and the other Unspeakables. See what’s out there that isn’t common knowledge.” Minerva pleaded with Morgan, eyes shining and luminous.

“I will do all I can to come up with something. I simply cannot promise anything on the communications front. I can, however, promise to be here as often as is possible; to be more committed to you than any other married couple I know, and to be there to hold your hand as you turn, oh, I don’t know, eighty years old.”

Minerva smiled softly. “Eighty? Morgan, really. Why not eighty-five, or ninety? Who knows if we’ll even live that long?”

Morgan pulled out her best Dumbledore eye-twinkle and teased, “Of course you will. I’ll predict that at eighty, you’ll still be better-looking than most fifty year olds have a right to be, and I will be there to celebrate with you.”

Minerva’s cheeks filled with color. “Yes, well, moving along. I have nothing further to discuss of our future at this time. Have you any more concerns?”

Sobering her expression and losing the twinkles, Morgan replied, “I do have one more issue that needs resolving.”

Minerva nodded, “Go ahead then.”

“Finances,” she sighed. “I know that there are things you do without when I’m not around, as evidenced by the state of your larder when I show up, though it is not the only sign I see of expenses outweighing income. I, on the other hand, have a bit of a surplus when it comes to income, and a decided lack of normal expenses.”

Minerva shook her head defiantly. “I don’t do without many things I need, Morgan.”

Morgan moved to kneel in front of Minerva and reached up to gently palm her cheek. “Maybe not, but you do live without the things you want, and I can help take up some of the slack in your budget, if you’ll allow me to, at least until your Mastery is complete and you have a job with a more stable income than the stipend you get from your patronage.”

“I cannot accept your charity, Morgan, no matter how much I love you.” Minerva’s gaze was pointed at the floor.

“How is it charity to help support the woman I love while she gets her education? Is it not common practice for husbands and wives to take part of the financial burden off the shoulders of a spouse who is pursuing a Mastery?”

“Aye, but we aren’t married.”

“Haven’t we both just discussed the fact that were it not for the legalities holding us back, we would be? Aren’t we both committed to each other just as much as – if not more than – other legally married couples?”

Minerva sulked. “Yes.”

Morgan used the hand cupping Minerva’s cheek to turn her gaze back to her own face, looking steadfastly into her eyes. “Then how are we any different from them, Min, that I cannot be allowed to offer you the same financial support?”

“We aren’t,” she sighed.

“So you’ll allow me to set up a monthly transfer from my vault to yours?”

“If you must,” she conceded. “But I won’t accept too much! I won’t feel like a kept woman.”

“Of course.”

“Is that all then? Are we done with this dreadful conversation?”

“I think so, yes.” Morgan stretched up and kissed Minerva’s lips. “However, I reserve the right to bring any of this back up later if need be.”

“Fine.” Minerva stood up, pulling Morgan with her. She waved her wand, and all of the dinner dishes were cleaned and put away. She waved it again, and with a quiet word, both women were stripped down to their underwear, and the sudden drop in temperature caused Morgan’s nipples to tighten. “For now, there may be more … _pleasurable_ pursuits to pursue.”

Morgan smirked. “Pursuing pursuits?”

“Shut it,” Minerva snarked, closing the distance between them and using her lips to silence Morgan.

=========MM/HG=========

Thursday the First of July, a mere two days later, the two ladies made a trip to Diagon Alley to take care of some business.

They took a taxicab to the Muggle entrance at the Leaky Cauldron, said their farewells with a brief discreet kiss before tapping the bricks to open the passageway to the Alley, and Morgan headed off to the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, while Minerva made her way to run her own errands.

Upon reaching the bank, Morgan requested to speak with Ragnok, and was escorted to the little antechamber she’d been taken to on previous visits with the Goblin Official. As the future President of the Bank entered the room, she smiled broadly and greeted him, “Master Ragnok! How pleasant to see you today.”

He bowed at the waist. “The pleasure is all mine, Madam Stewart. How do you find your health?”

“I am quite well, thank you, and yourself?”

“I find myself healthy indeed for one my age, Madam Stewart. How may I assist you?”

“I am glad to hear it. As for business, I need to set up a monthly transfer from my vault to another.”

“I see. Into whose vault will these deposits be made?”

“Minerva McGonagall,” Morgan stated matter-of-factly.

“McGonagall? To my knowledge, we have a yearly stipend going from you to a Mister Malcolm McGonagall for a Patronage already. Is it your intention to be a Patron to Miss McGonagall as well?” Ragnok looked at her questioningly.

“Not exactly, Master Ragnok,” Morgan replied. “Miss McGonagall will be the recipient of the cottage I purchased in Scotland last year, and while she is currently under the patronage of Albus Dumbledore, the stipend she receives from him is not quite enough to cover all of her monthly expenses. As the two of us are setting up house together once the cottage is ready, I would like to ensure that she can make all the purchases she needs to get through the month, even after her monetary compensation from Professor Dumbledore has ended.”

The elderly Goblin didn’t blink an eye at her mention of the relationship between two witches. “I see,” he intoned. “Have you considered simply adding Miss McGonagall as a signatory on your accounts? If the two of you plan to cohabitate, it would be the wiser choice than a monthly transfer of funds.”

Morgan sighed. “At this point, I do not think she would allow such access to my money. She is quite proud, and hesitant to even accept a small stipend from me.”

He nodded. “Very well. I will retrieve the requisite records and return momentarily.” Making his way to the door, he stopped and turned to face Morgan once again. “Am I to assume, Madam Stewart, that I should exercise utmost discretion in setting these transactions up? You’ll pardon my impertinence for asking, but I am assuming that the nature of your relationship is less than purely professional, and these kinds of relationships are not well-received by Wizarding Society as a whole.”

Morgan colored a bit, stuttering, “Erm, yes, Master Ragnok. Your discretion will be greatly appreciated.”

“Then I assume correctly?”

She smiled softly. “You do.”

“Then I offer my felicitations on the coupling. She is a lucky woman to have garnered your interest.”

“Thank you, Master Ragnok. I believe I am actually the luckier woman. She is truly extraordinary in every way.”

Ragnok nodded again with a small curl to his lips and turned back to the door. “I shall return as quickly as possible.”

He opened the door and passed through, off to weave through the back corridors of the bank to bring back the necessary records.

After the door closed behind him, Morgan expelled a long breath from her lungs and sagged back into her chair. _That wasn’t an awkward conversation at all_ , she thought, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with having revealed her feelings for Minerva to the Goblin who would be handling her finances for the next fifty-five years – if not longer – but knowing what she knew of the future; knowing that he would continue to look after her accounts after being promoted to President of Gringotts, and would ensure her financial stability even through two rounds of war with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, she felt there were few others she trusted with that information as much as she trusted him.

Having come to that realization, she was completely comfortable with his knowing about the two of them, and thus settled more easily into her seat, pouring a cup of the excellent tea the bank always provided to her when she showed up.

She’d gotten nearly to the bottom when the door reopened and Master Ragnok strode back in, a troubled look on his face.

“What has you so concerned,” Morgan asked, setting her cup to the side.

“I apologize, Madam Stewart, but I cannot seem to find any record of a Minerva McGonagall having a vault with us, and therefore cannot set up the transfers you requested.”

Morgan sputtered again, “But … that sneaky witch. She failed to mention that when accepting that I planned to offer her this assistance.” Her lips quirked up on one side. “Merlin I love her.”

Ragnok watched this byplay curiously.

“Is there a way I could have the arrangement settled by a monthly removal of the requested amount in currency and sent to her via Owl Post?”

“I am unsure if such a system is currently in place, but I do believe we can accommodate your request,” Ragnok replied, a glint in his eye at the prospect of subverting a potential future customer.

He left the room again, returning quickly to inform Morgan that her request had been approved by the current President, a positively ancient Goblin named Nagnok, and Ragnok’s great-grandfather, named for his own father, whose death preceded one of the Goblin Rebellions. Ragnok was his heir apparent.

From then until such a time that Morgan deemed necessary, reviewed on her first visit of each year to account for inflation, a changing economy, and Minerva’s own need for the funds, ten Galleons, ten Sickles, and ten Knuts would be placed in a courier sack and sent to Miss McGonagall via a Post Owl who had been bred and trained to carry heavy packages for the Post Office on the first of every month. As today was the first of this month, the parcel was weighed out and sent, a note from Ragnok having been included.

“I wonder,” Morgan mused to Ragnok as she watched the owl wing its way out of the bank, “If she has no vault or account with Gringotts, how does she receive her stipend from Albus?”

=========MM/HG=========

As Minerva left Morgan at the entrance to Diagon Alley, she watched her lover saunter toward the bank before shaking her head and stepping away to get on with her own errands. She would never get used to the idea that Morgan was _hers_ , and nobody else got to see was underneath the tailored robes and dresses that her lover wore.

Going about her way, Minerva thought about Morgan with a wistful smile on her face as she popped into Scribbulus to pick up a new pot of ink, into Madam Malkin’s to pick up the regalia she’d be needing once her Apprenticeship’s final year began – the color on the edge of her robes changed with her achieved Mastery levels as she advanced her knowledge – and finally into Flourish and Blotts to pick up a Transfiguration text she’d ordered. Her purchases all made, she had one final errand to complete.

Several minutes later found her seated at one of the outdoor tables of a small café, awaiting her early lunch companion. She was engrossed in thumbing through her new book, and therefore missed the quiet throat-clearing that accompanied the auburn-haired wizard who was set to meet her.

“Ah, _Umfraville’s Definitive Guide to Gamp’s Laws of Elemental Transfiguration_. I can see how you are so enthralled.” Albus Dumbledore was amused as he sat in the opposite chair.

“Oh, Professor!” Minerva put the book away quickly. “I didn’t see you arrive.”

“That’s quite alright, my dear,” the Transfiguration Professor replied. “It’s an interesting look at Gamp’s Laws and their exceptions.”

“I haven’t gotten very far into it yet, but it certainly seems fairly revolutionary on the surface.”

“I picked it up last month. It doesn’t cover as much as it could, but it does expand upon the general face of the research which came before.” He smiled at the waitress who came to take their orders, putting in his request for some sugary confection that made Minerva’s teeth hurt just to think of it, while she ordered tea and a simple sandwich. She may have gone for something heavier, but as the meal was his monthly treat, she never tried to take advantage of his generosity, always choosing something on the lower-cost end of the menu.

They discussed Gamp’s Laws while they worked their way through the meal, eventually moving onto another treatise on the rules of elemental transfiguration which had predated Hesper Gamp’s completely innovative look which had changed the way the world saw the subject forever after.

The waitress cleared the table and Albus settled the bill before reaching into a deep pocket of his robes to retrieve a small sack of coins. Minerva pulled the pouch over in front of her, opening it to confirm that it contained her monthly stipend. As she uttered her genuine thanks for his monetary Patronage, a large owl flew overhead and dropped a somewhat larger bag on the table as well before leaving without expecting an owl-treat.

Surprised, Minerva opened the second bag and nearly had a heart attack when she saw the amount of money it contained.

Albus peered over the edge, eyes widening when he saw the small fortune inside. “Well, well. It seems I am not the only one giving you money today.”

Minerva flushed lightly, reaching in to pull out a small scroll, sealed with heavy wax and the imprint of Gringotts. Cracking open the seal, she read through the short missive.

_Miss Minerva McGonagall,_

_I am sending to you an amount I am told was agreed upon as a monthly transfer to you from a valued customer. The request was initially meant to be transferred between vaults, but as you are not currently a customer with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, we have come to this alternate method of settling the debt. If you choose to open an account with us at some point in the future, these monthly transactions will be handled with the utmost discretion as a simple movement of monies between the two vaults as originally planned. Until such time, you will receive the agreed-upon sum on the first of each month via Owl Post._

_Morgan Stewart, the transferor of funds has asked that I include a personal note in their stead._

_“You are a sneaky, cheeky witch, and we shall discuss this further tonight.”_

_Hopefully we will see you soon to set up a vault lease. Until then, I remain your humble servant._

_Ragnok  
Chief Goblin in Charge of New Accounts_

Minerva couldn’t help but smile at Morgan’s insert, garnering further attention from Dumbledore.

“From whom have you received such wealth, Minerva,” he queried, that damnable twinkle appearing in his eye, as though he knew everything when he knew nothing at all.

“Just a … friend,” she replied cryptically.

“A mere friend having so much money sent to you directly from Gringotts? Who is this … friend?” He repeated her stutter over the honorific.

Her face reddened, and she found that she was unable to speak.

“Have you met someone and formed a romantic attachment?” He forced the issue, making her feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Perhaps, Professor, but nothing is yet set in stone.” She blew off the seriousness of her relationship with Morgan, deciding to avoid gender-specific pronouns when speaking about her. It was a fairly neutral name, and it was none of her patron’s ability with whom she was forming relationships, romantic or otherwise.

“Well, once things are more firmly set upon, I would love to meet your young man,” he said, pressing his luck.

“I’ll pass the request on … if things get to that point, sir,” Minerva replied tersely. She had no intention whatsoever of sharing Morgan with anyone she didn’t have to, even if Dumbledore had been a great benefactor to her. She would accept his meddling – to an extent – when it came to her educational career for which he was paying, but her personal life was just that – personal. Deep down, she also worried that he might lose some of his esteem for her if he found out that she preferred a female partner. Rumors had abounded regarding his former relationship with Gellert Grindelwald, but from everything he’d said, they were unfounded lies, drummed up by the media to explain how he’d chosen to deal with the megalomaniac, and she accepted that as the truth. She had no real reason to question it.

She tucked the little note into her pocket, and combined the two bags of coins together, pocketing the larger one and tossing the smaller back his direction to be used the following month.

“Thank you once again, Professor, but I really must be going now.” She stood and drew her light-weight cloak around her shoulders.

“Same time and place next month, Minerva?” She missed as he had made a surreptitious copy of the scroll and summoned it into his own pocket.

“I will see you then.” Forcing a smile, she turned and Disapparated back to her flat, leaving him to stare at the empty space for a moment.

“How very intriguing,” he mused before leaving himself, choosing to Floo back to The Three Broomsticks from The Leaky Cauldron rather than Apparate such a distance back to Hogwarts.

=========MM/HG=========

Later that night, Morgan did have a brief chat with Minerva about her attempted subterfuge, and Minerva simply shrugged and blushed, saying that Morgan couldn’t blame her for trying.

Initially she was upset over the amount, citing her previous lack of desire to be a “kept woman,” but in the end, she capitulated, thinking of all the things she could do to help her family with the extra money, as well as the saving she could do toward a place to live after her stint in the flat was up.

Having settled their minor dispute, the two lovers settled into bed, taking comfort in each other while they could. Morgan was scheduled to leave again for work in a couple of days, and so the rest of Thursday night, as well as all day Friday was spent in whatever pleasurable pursuits they wanted.

They stopped to eat, to shower, and to read together from Minerva’s new book, as well as from the books of poetry that Morgan had gifted her for Christmas. Another book of poetry had been bought on this trip to the past, and had been given to Minerva as an early birthday gift, knowing that Morgan would be unable to be present on that day.

When Saturday came, they moped the morning away, avoiding sexual contact, but keeping as close as they could to another physically, trying to memorize the way their skin felt against the other’s, and how Morgan’s hair tickled at Minerva’s cheeks as they snuggled together, and how nice it felt for Minerva’s fingers to wrap over the ends of Morgan’s when they clasped their hands tightly together.

Around noon, Morgan summoned her belongings, stuffed them all into her little beaded bag, and with a tear-filled good-bye, she departed from the past, returning yet again to her future.

=========MM/HG=========

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s been 20 months since I last updated. 20 months to the day. I am so sorry it’s taken this long. I can’t make any guarantees on how quickly the next one will be done, but I sincerely hope that the PA winter and this bit of momentum will help motivate me to write more and faster. Special thanks to Jen and Sierra and Bethany and Violeta and Christine. You guys are who keep me going. Happy Holidays, guys, from me to you.


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